


Promise

by AngelsofGlory666



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Angry John, Arranged Marriage, Bonding, Depressed John, Jealousy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscarriage, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Omega John, Pining, Self-Hatred, Separation, Stuborn John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 171,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelsofGlory666/pseuds/AngelsofGlory666
Summary: Omegas are treated with the utmost respect and care, for their presence is a rarity. When an omega child is born they are promised to a worthy and high classed alpha. John Watson once felt pride being an Omega. Only, after spending years being ridiculed by his peers, he came to understand the shame of being an omega.Omegas were created to be bred by their alpha. They are sold to the richest of alphas, bought to be mounted and birth their alpha kin… Nothing more.As John prepares to marry his intended alpha, these are the thoughts that cloud his mind and further shame him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being reposted along with some of my other works. I deleted all my stories in a moment of anger because of a hurtful comment. It was one of the worst and cruelest...
> 
> I'm getting angry again remembering it. Moving on, I received a message from a reader after having deleted everything. They reminded me of why I started writing. They felt for my stories the way I felt for fan fiction. I realized I shouldn't hurt others just because of one stupid jerk. So, sorry to my readers. I don't usually get like this but... yeah, never had a comment like that ass's before. Sorry, still angry. It will take some time to work through that anger.
> 
> Anyways, I will slowly post my stories back up on AO3. It might take a month or so, but I'll finish eventually.

It was a known truth that omegas were the first to come into being. Alphas came second and were the intended bond mates to omegas. Omegas were held in the highest esteem, for they were the producers of kin, giving birth to their alpha’s pups. As time passed, betas were born and they too, like omegas, bonded with alphas. However, unlike omegas, beta males could not produce their alpha kin.

After betas were created, the abundance of omegas steadily decreased. Alphas mated with betas as all omegas that remained were soon bonded with. It came to pass that an omega was promised to a worthy alpha by the age of five and they were to bond/marry after the omega reached their second heat cycle. The parents of an omega were substantially rewarded for their offered/sacrificed omega. 

John Watson knew he was an omega since the age of three. Many found him fascinating, being that omegas were rare. The population of omegas in the UK alone was 8%. John didn’t care too much about it, he was young, innocent, and his parents never brought up his status in front of him. The only thing his mother ever said about his status was that he was special and that one day he would understand just how special he was. This made him proud to be an omega.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When John was five he spent most of his time hearing his parents argue. They fought over intended alpha bond mates for John, and he couldn’t quite understand what that was. When he asked his older sister Harry, she explained his bond mate would be his lifelong friend. John smiled at the consideration his parents had on choosing a worthy friend for him, but they really didn’t need to struggle so hard. He had enough friends as it was. Still, they wanted an alpha bond mate for him and all his other friends were betas, so he understood.

It took his parents another year and a half of arguing and reasoning with one another until they’d agreed upon a future bond mate for John. One night as John prepared himself for bed; his parents came to tuck him in and began to tell him about his promised alpha bond mate. 

“Your bond mate was just born, but no worries. We’ll receive updates from his family as he grows, dear.” His mother began, petting his hair lovingly, bright smile upon her face.

“He comes from an exceptional family. They all hold position within the government. Rather wealthy family too. They come from old money. You’ll never want for anything, son. They will care for you most eagerly, for you are an omega. Don’t forget to be proud of that son!” His father cheered with a wide grin on his face.

John only smiled happily. His parents had found him a friend to play with.

“Can I see him? I can bring my toys with me so we can play?” John merrily pleaded. 

Mrs. Watson smiled softly at her child and palmed his rosy cheek.

“Yes, dear you will see him, but not for a long while. After you reach your second heat cycle you will meet him on your wedding day.” Mrs. Watson clarified slowly and with care. 

John's brows furrowed in confusion, he didn’t understand. 

“I thought you were finding me a friend. Why must I wait? Wedding? I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t fret child. You will understand as you get older.” Mrs. Watson cooed, leaning in to press a kiss to the child’s forehead before pulling away.

“Sleep, son. You need your rest.” Mr. Watson added, wrapping an arm around Mrs. Watson as they left John’s room.

John exhaled a heavy breath and believed his parents. He would wait until he understood more clearly. For now, he closed his eyes and let himself drift off in sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to marry a stranger!” A fifteen year old John hollered at the top of his lungs and at his astonished parents.

“What? What’s brought this on?” Mrs. Watson stuttered out. 

“I’m not going to be some _inheatbitch-baby-making-machine_ for some _over entitled rich ponce!_ ” 

“Did someone tell you that?” Mr. Watson stood from the kitchen table. 

John’s eyes welled with hot tears and he shook his head denying the truth. Then he felt the warm arms of his father wrapping him up in a tight embrace.

“Don’t listen to those idiots. You are highly valued son. They are jealous of your status.” 

“No, they aren’t! I’m a bitch! Alphas only use omegas to breed; we’re nothing in society but baby makers!” John sobbed harshly against his father’s chest, grabbing to his coat in tight fists.

The deep growl of an enraged alpha father sounded at his son’s distress.

“Tell me their names son. Tell me!” Mr. Watson demanded, wishing to find these children and give them a firm talking to.

John shifted then, shoving himself out of his father’s grasp.

“Forget it! What they said is the truth and you’re no better. You’ve sold me to the highest bidder. I’m just some merchandise to you!” John wept harder, choked broken sobs bubbling out of him.

“Oh, John.” Mrs. Watson whined standing and moving towards her emotional son, open arms, needing to comfort him of his pain.

“No! I won’t marry that alpha!” John swore and without another word stormed to his room and slammed the door behind him.

John refused to listen to his parents arguments on why it was important he marry his bond mate. Apparently, since he was six and the arrangement had been legally finalized, his intended bond mate’s family had already been installing payments to the Watson’s. John should have noticed how they’d moved from a two bedroom apartment to a three story home in a matter of a month after the agreement was made, but he didn’t. All the fancy furniture, cars, clothes, jewelry, exotic vacations, all of it was because of his intended alpha’s family payments. 

Even if John wanted to cancel the arrangement, he couldn’t. It would mean legal battles, his parents becoming destitute and even more unsettling thoughts. John was trapped and there was nothing he could do to get out of it. Still, John would not conform. He refused to be a sex toy to some rich dolt, who had to pay for breeding him. 

Regardless of everything else, this was the day John first began to feel the shame of being an omega.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“John, are you okay?” Harry’s muffled call came from beyond the barricaded steel door of his heat room.

“Go away!” John roared, clawing at the white padded walls of the room.

“Fine!” Harry screamed back with just as much hostility. 

John whined pitifully, sliding to the padded floors and thrashed about. He was so hot. His flesh burned, it seared with heat and need. He needed to feel, to feel someone’s touch. 

“ _Oh, God!_ ” John gasped when he felt it.

A sudden hot gush of slick burst from out of his ass and soaked his pants. Lowering a hand, he palmed his stiff cock and whimpered throatily. He needed. He needed so badly. He was locked away in his heat room alone, so alone and he needed to be needed. He needed an alpha. 

_He needed his intended_. 

John moaned, digging his hand under the waistband of his pants, gripped his throbbing cock and gave one hard desperate squeeze, imaging it was the phantom touch of his illusive intended and came so hard his teeth chattered as spunk coated his hand.

“I won’t give in.” John swore and buried his head in the pillowed cushion of the ground, his cock still hard, never flagging for a minute, hot slick sliding down his thighs and soaking his ass and pants further. 

After his second heat finished his parents contacted his intended’s family to let them know that John was finally of age. 

John was only eighteen, which meant his intended alpha was twelve, _twelve!_ John would be damned if he married a fucking child and let the kid breed him on his next heat. They were starting to talk about wedding venues for Christ’s sakes! John couldn’t…he wouldn’t marry. 

When John told his parents he joined the army, his father had blown a fuse and nearly murdered him, but his mother held him back. They’d pleaded with John to reconsider, to withdraw the proceedings of enlisting, but it was too late. John’s parents were forced then to call his intended’s parents and inform them of his choice. The parents of his intended hadn’t been as upset as John hoped they would be. He’d secretly wished they’d cancel the wedding and break ties with them, but apparently John being so damn rare a find, they’d decided to postpone the wedding until after John finished his tour. 

John, unhappy he was still engaged to marry and bond with his intended, decided this was better than being bred by a child and accepted it. He went to war and stayed for four years on tour, and during that time he went to school on base. He reenlisted once his four years were finished and told his parents by phone, smiling happily when his father cursed him to hell and back, saying he didn’t think his intended family would accept such behavior. He hoped that was the case.

They called him a week later to let him know that, surprisingly, his intended supported his choice. In fact his intended encouraged John to continue for however long it was he wished and that when he finished they would marry then. John was surprised his intended had something to say. In all the years of his parents communicating with the other’s family, his intended never had anything to say. John felt a slight warmth claim him then, pride that someone understood his desire to want to fight for his country. 

John continued the army and furthered his education. He became a doctor and captain in the army and everything was going well. His parents still called and argued with him, believing he should stop now, that is was dangerous for an omega to be in an army full of alphas and betas. John was on suppressants, so that really didn’t matter, his sex drive was absent when on such drugs. Still, they reasoned that he’d spent enough time on tour, but he didn’t want to stop, even when he thought that they might be right. 

John reenlisted one final time, knowing he couldn’t keep doing this forever. Just because he didn’t want to get married and bonded, didn’t mean he could spend his whole life in the army. He liked working in the army, but he missed London, and as annoying as it was to admit, he missed his parents and Harry. _One more tour_ , John promised himself. One more tour and he’d accept his fate. 

On his fourth year of his third tour, he’d been transferred to Afghanistan and everything changed after that…

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, John, you look so handsome sweetie.” Mrs. Watson blubbered, straightening out John’s tie as he readied himself for the morbid outcome that he’d spent years trying to avoid, his marriage to his intended alpha.

John glared at himself in the mirror. He wore a tailored black full dress tail tuxedo, pale blue vest, tie, handkerchief, and black Italian leather shoes. It was all far more expensive than he was comfortable wearing—chosen by his intended, as his mother pointed out. John found he didn’t like him at all. He didn’t want to marry someone so materialistic. He really didn’t want to marry a stranger. 

Clutching tightly to his cane, attempting to steel himself with resolve, John stared at the cane through the mirror with hate. Hating himself. When John was sent back home invalid, his parents had given him four months to recover before they’d begun to plan his wedding with his intended’s parents. John couldn’t stop them; knowing there was no way out and he’d grown tired of trying to fight the inevitable. He’d been sold long ago and now was the day he’d pay for it.

John allowed his mother to guide him out of the dressing room of the fancy country club, down a long hallway, and out to the gardens. There was soft instrumental music playing, piercingly haunting cello vibrating the moment he neared, followed by a violin, piano, and harp. 

In front of him, John took in the sight that befell him. His father and Harry stood waiting, beyond them across the lush green grass were placed several hundred white wooden chairs. The center dividing the two sections of chairs was an aisle of white and pale blue rose petals. So many, so beautiful, and John could scent their subtle sweetness. 

There was a swarm of people, strangers already seated, talking and conversing with one another, whom still haven’t taken notice of his presence. John felt as if he’d throw up. He didn’t want this and yet none of that mattered. He wanted to marry for love, not to be bred by some stranger, some creepy rich weirdo. 

“You remember what I told you sweetheart. Just walk up the aisle and follow your alpha’s lead.” Mrs. Watson spoke beside her son, pressing a kiss to his head of hair and choking back another sob of joy, before she left him to meet Mr. Watson and Harry. 

John watched as the three members of his family left him to seat themselves in preparation for the wedding mere moments from the beginning. Harry paused to give him a look of sympathy. Harry was an alpha, she didn’t understand. She would never understand what it was like to be an omega. To be controlled by tradition, bought and sold for the purpose of breeding. 

John broke their stare out of anger and self-loathing. He hated being an omega, helpless to defy his fate. All the fighting, all the arguing, all his avoiding of this very moment amounted to nothing. He was to be wed and when his heat struck two months from now, his then husband, would breed him. It wouldn’t even be considered claiming for how artificial their relationship would be.

He at least hoped his alpha would be kind when he bred him. There were so many stories of alphas being aggressive and cruel when bonding with their mates. He didn’t want his first time to be like that… He’d waited; or rather his parents had forbidden him of dating or being intimate with others. 

When John finally was free from the watchful gaze of his parents, he still couldn’t be with anyone. The suppressants he took during his years in the army were to protect him from alphas. It stopped him from going into heat, but the side effect of the drug caused him to lack any form of a sexual drive. He became genderless and his drug induced scent worked as a repellant to others. Since John didn’t want to be claimed by some crazed alpha when in heat, he’d accepted such side effects. Now, back home, he’d stopped taking his suppressants and would be ready for his heat in two months time. 

John continued to examine his wedding, having held no say in the preparation. Sure he was to marry a stranger, but at least he’d take the time to appreciate his own wedding. The white lawn chairs held pale blue lavishing bows at their backs. It was a cool autumn night and the white and blue string lights that hung over the white pillars at the ends of the rows of chairs, gave the wedding party a soft and warm glow. There was a full moon out, no doubt chosen for auspicious blessing from the moon goddess. John scoffed at the idea of any blessings for this sham of a wedding. Why even have a wedding? Weddings were sentimental, loving events. This was anything, but that. 

John was avoiding looking further up ahead and to where the chairs faced. He wasn’t ready to look at the wedding party, not the priest and most certainly not the groom. Instead, John took several steps closer, until he stood out of the shadows and directly faced the aisle. He was still a good ten feet away. John noticed that at this angle he could see the band, seated at the right end of the white and red rose arch. 

John stared hard at the roses, yet he was still unable to take in people standing at the center end of the altar, and although everything in him was telling him not to look. Knowing that if he looked he’d finally have to face the truth, face his future, his tormenting sentence in an unwanted marriage. Knowing all of this could not stop him, and he lowered his gaze. A priest with graying hair, sunken sad eyes and large glasses stood on a podium holding to his chest a silver bible that glistened even from where John stood. The priest looked annoyed, impatient and John could understand why. The wedding was supposed to have started thirty minutes ago, but John had spent that time fighting his mother tooth and nail on wearing his tuxedo. 

John slowly, carefully, with great regret, slid his gaze from the priest and to the two figures standing side by side. Both were pale and tall men. Each dressed to the nines, though the one to the left wore an identical tuxedo that matched John’s own, and he instantly knew this was his intended. Since age six, he’d been promised to this man, almost married him at eighteen. The same man who encouraged him to follow his dreams in the army and gave him more time to prepare himself. 

The man was… Beautiful. Slender, a bit too slender, but his eyes were striking. His features alluring and singular, piercingly high cheekbones, curved pale pink lips, with a sense of innocence. Without thinking, John took a step forward, followed by another, each step earning him a clearer view of the man before him. 

When he stood at the edge of the aisle, his feet inches from the rose petals, the band stilled their playing for one moment before Pachelbel's Canon in D strummed beautifully from their instruments. It was happening. The sudden chatter of guests stilled and hundreds of witnesses turned to take in his appearance, no doubt wondering who this elusive and rare omega could be. _Oh God_ , John was going to barf. 

John should be moving. The music kept playing, eyes were on him, it was expected he _move_ , but he was frozen in place. He stared, just stared, eyes wide, fear clear on his face as the once unaware groom took in his presence. His once vacant unresponsive gaze shifted to one of fascination and perceptiveness. He scanned John’s form, slow and calculatingly, and then John was unprepared for the soft smile that graced his lips. That stunned John. Why would the man smile? Was it a smirk, satisfaction for finally meeting the omega he would breed, or was it of comfort—reassurance that it was okay to be nervous.

No. This was an alpha. A beautiful, rich, smart alpha, he was smiling because he knew he was better than John, knew John was just a bitch omega to be bred and birth his pups. 

John’s body at last set into motion, but not forward and towards his intended. He stepped back and away, the sharp gasps that sounded drove the fear in him to double and John took another step back. The smile across his intended’s face fell then, replaced with a raised brow of confusion. John wanted to run. He wanted to leave. He couldn’t take the ridicule, the embarrassment of being an omega. Everyone knew he’d been bought. Everyone knew this wedding was a sham. 

John’s eyes narrowed in on his mother who suddenly stood from where she sat in the front row and hurriedly made her way towards him. John couldn’t stop the tears from fogging his vision and he whimpered, terrified, he whimpered for his mother’s comfort, because he couldn’t do this. 

But he _had_ to, for his family. John had to damn himself. 

His mother said nothing. She didn’t pressure him. Ignoring the hundred of stares, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him down to press their foreheads together. She hadn’t placed such a kind token like this since he was a child, yet it always reassured him when she did so.

“My sweet child.” Mrs. Watson hummed softly, “I’m here. I’m always here.” 

John whined brokenly, allowing his mother to wipe his tears away and took deep breaths to calm himself enough to nod his head in understanding.

“I’ll walk with you.” She reassured, taking hold of his trembling hand in her own and facing the wedding party with a stern look about her, daring anyone to say anything about her child who’d lost himself to fear for one moment in time. She was a true beta, who held so much power; an alpha wouldn’t be so quick to second guess her. 

The guests turned around and the band played the song in a loop and John took slow steps forward, following his mother’s lead. Slowly they strolled down the aisle. John couldn’t meet the stare of his intended; he stared to the rose petals beneath his feet and clutched his mother’s hand in a death grip.

The moment they stood before his intended; John took hold of his mother’s hand in both of his and squeezed pleadingly. His mother slowly slipped one hand out of his grip to pat the hands that held to her other. Knowing it was time, he gave in, and he released her of his hold, earning a soft kiss on his head of hair, before his mother left him to seat herself once more. 

The music stilled and the priest began to speak. As he spoke John stared at his feet a mere foot from the feet of his intended and John wasn’t surprised they wore the same shoes. As the priest spoke, his intended took a half step closer to him and John was tempted to step back, but he didn’t want to cause another scene. As long as he didn’t look at his intended, he would be fine. After they married, he could leave his intended’s side. Harry mentioned the reception was going to have an open bar; he rather liked the sound of that. He’d join Harry for some drinks. That sounded like a plan.

John jolted to awareness when his intended grabbed his left hand, but then he saw the ring he held in his other hand and he realized why he’d taken hold of his hand. He hadn’t even realized the priest had gotten to that part, but then again he found himself lost in thought. John remained deathly still as his intended placed the ring on his finger and spoke in a soft yet resonating voice.

“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.” 

“John.” The priest encouraged, tilting his head in his intended’s direction.

His intended released him of his hold, yet raised his left hand expectantly. John hurriedly fished through his pocket for the ring his mother gave him and roughly and with less care than his intended used, shoved the ring over his pale left ring finger. 

“With this ring, I...thee wed. With...my body, I thee worship. And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.” John dully recited.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do you commit yourself to John Hamish Watson, to love, honor, respect each other, to communicate with each other, to look to your own emotional health so that you can relate in a healthy way, and provide a healthy home for children if you choose to have them; to be a support and comfort for your partner in times of sickness and health, as long as love shall last?”

Sherlock Holmes…his intended’s name was Sherlock Holmes. In all his years of knowing he was promised to an alpha, he’d never once acknowledged his name. Sure he’d heard his name mentioned several _hundred_ times by his parents, be he didn’t want to validate his intended. It was easier to just refer to him as ‘intended alpha’ so he couldn’t tie himself further to his fate. Hearing his name seemed to make everything all the more real. 

“I do.” His intended broke the stillness, voice reverberating through the silence. 

“John Hamish Watson, do you commit yourself to William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to love, honor, respect each other, to communicate with each other, to look to your own emotional health so that you can relate in a healthy way, and provide a healthy home for children if you choose to have them; to be a support and comfort for your partner in times of sickness and health, as long as love shall last?”

“I… do.” John whispered, softly, brokenly, dejectedly, sentencing himself to damnation, the rest of his life would be spent with a complete stranger who he had no wish of knowing or being close with. He was marrying an alpha that would use him, sold to the highest bidder by his own family. John was still unable to meet his intended’s—Sherlock’s, gaze all while he spoke his affirmation. 

“Father, we ask now for your blessing on these beautiful wedding rings—that they may symbolize for Alpha William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Omega John Hamish Watson in their union; health, happiness, strength and courage, joy and peace, abundance and prosperity and unconditional loving for each other. So be it.”

John glanced over the swarm of witnesses, searching for his family. When he caught sight of his parents and Harry, he kept his gaze on them. He didn’t care if he appeared unwilling or disrespectful. The Holmes had bought him to be bred, not to be a loving mate, and he never would be. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wed. Alpha, you may now take claim of your omega.” 

When hands reached out for his tie, John noticeably winced, voicelessly allowing his now husband to loosen his tie, unbutton his shirt collar enough so that his tan neck and clavicle was revealed. 

He could do this, staring at his mother who gave him an encouraging smile, he allowed Sherlock to wrap an arm around his waist and draw him in close. He remained limp, unresponsive to the alpha’s contact, and without prompting he slanted his neck to the side exposing his scent gland. 

Sherlock didn’t hesitate and bowed his head low. John broke eye contact with his mother when heated lips grazed a trail down, gliding and analyzing; they sought the perfect position to place the bond mark. Being this close to Sherlock, he couldn’t prevent himself from inhaling the alpha’s scent. Sherlock smelled of herbal tea, biscuits, mint and something purely masculine, something that screamed alpha and dominance. His omega curled in on itself, strongly affected by the scent, it spurred his stomach into tumbling knots. All that his omega wanted was to bury itself in his alpha’s scent gland and smell that scent where it was its strongest, because, _Jesus_ , nothing smelled as mouth-watering as the alpha. 

Teeth pressed along his scent gland and John stiffened. A soft growl rumbled out of Sherlock as his teeth pressed deeper, John instinctively grabbed the tall man’s arms, digging his fingers into the fine tuxedo as the alpha broke through the skin of his neck.

Deep within his omega howled in rapture, spasms rippling through him, joyous and proud to be claimed at last. John refused to give into his omega’s desire of paying respect to this alpha. Clenching his eyes tight, John focused on his breathing, and restrained the whine choking itself in the back of his throat from breaking free. 

Cheering from the crowd broke through the silence and Sherlock finally detached his fangs from John’s scent gland. Before pulling completely away, Sherlock paused to lave at the bleeding wound, drinking up the blood until the wound clotted and then released John of his hold and took two steps back.

John stumbled another step away from the alpha, fear and shame coloring his face as he raised a hand to his bond bite and cautiously touched the sensitive flesh. Regardless of his wish, tears formed in his eyes. He’d been claimed by his alpha, he was now owned and his alpha would take him on his heat and begin breeding him. John was no different than a bitch in a puppy mill. 

Everything happened so fast. Witnesses stood and clapped for the couple. His alpha and the best man standing at his side moved down the steps of the altar and swiftly left. John should have followed, but he didn’t. Instead, John staggered over to his mother who quickly embraced him.

His parents comforted him and delivered encouraging praise, while his sister stared on sadly. Strangers who remained walked over to him and congratulated him and introduced themselves, but John couldn’t understand what they were saying. He kept thinking about himself and his life that was forever changed. 

Somehow his parents coaxed him into moving and led him to the reception hall. There were many tables elegantly decorated and his parents went to take their reserved seats. As they did this, Harry dragged John over to the open bar and ordered him the hardest liquor they had. There the two drank in grim silence, and John knew he should have stopped his sister from drinking so much, but he was too preoccupied imaging the hell of a life he was sentenced to live for the rest of his life. 

The two sat there for hours, drinking and talking. Harry did most of the talking while John mutely nodded, demonstrating that he was listening. When the room began to spin, John knew he should stop and he did. He tipped low out of his seat and left Harry to her drinking and looked for the wedding party. There in the center of the room, at the far wall was a long table that sat his parents; his alpha, his alpha’s best man, and what he assumed were his alpha’s parents. 

John blushed hotly at the realization that this whole time they’d been staring at him. His parents stared on with annoyance and embarrassment, whereas the Holmes’ eyed him warily. No doubt, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were wondering if they’d just bound their alpha son to an alcoholic omega. 

John sighed heavily, raised a hand to comb through his disheveled hair he’d spent tussling while drinking with Harry. 

The only seats open were two chairs between his parents and his alpha. John reluctantly took the seat closest to the alpha, knowing the other was for Harry. The table went quiet when he seated himself and he wasn’t sure if he should break the silence or let it remain. 

He decided to let it remain and took to eating his meal set before him. As he ate, his parents and in-laws began conversing. Even as John ate he took note of his alpha turning to his best man and began speaking in hushed tones as to not let the others hear them and John felt aggravation bloom within him.

His husband was ignoring him. He held no value for him, though really what did John expect. He’d made a scene during their wedding and was now positively drunk. Even as he sat, he swayed in his seat and struggled to feed himself. 

John was thankful they didn’t have to dance at their wedding, and he had a strong belief that it was due to his heavy intoxication that he was never prompted to do so. There had been speeches from the best man, it was formal and to the point. His father gave a speech that was humble and caring. Even Harry made a speech. She was pissed and spoke about always protecting her brother and then proceeded to threaten Sherlock if he were to ever hurt John she would end him. John had flushed hotly and glanced over to his alpha and in-laws. His in-laws were not pleased, but Sherlock smirked amusedly.

His alpha’s reaction surprised him and he was unsure how to take it. Most likely he could see she was drunk and didn’t take anything to heart. This pleased John slightly; grateful the alpha understood and wouldn’t hold it against his sister. She was always different when she drank. 

When the reception ended, John was ushered by his parents to leave in a limousine with his alpha. They were to go to the Holmes' home. His in-laws and parents would shortly join them. John begrudgingly did so.

The car ride was made in complete silence. John was thankful for this and spent the drive staring out the window, seeing but not comprehending. The alpha did the same and John thought if their marriage was spent in stillness, it wouldn’t be all that bad. Sure, every three months he’d have to endure his heat with his alpha, but the rest of his time could be spent like this. During these times John could live his life as if he weren’t married. That was a pleasant thought. 

When they reached Sherrinford estate, John was floored. It wasn’t just a home. It was a mansion, a _bloody mansion_. Though, really what did John expect, the large sums of money the Holmes' gave his parents must have come from a wealthy family. He just never expected them to be _this wealthy_. The home was situated in the middle of nowhere and the lush green land surrounding the home most probably was a part of the estate, it spanned what must be hundreds of acres. 

Sherlock exited first and John followed after him. The alpha didn’t validate his presence and John felt slight dissatisfaction by this. At least his alpha could acknowledge him. Regardless of his feelings, John followed the tall man through the extensive foyer and into a lavished sitting room. The home was fashionably adorned with expensive artifacts and furniture. Wedding guests were already there, servers weaved through the cluster of guests serving wine and appetizers. 

John realized that these guests were members of the Holmes family, or at least he assumed so. They were all slender, tall, and pale. They held a regal stance, much like his alpha and in-laws. 

“John!” Came the familiar call of his name.

Turning to his right his mother stood beside his father and Harry. 

“How did you get here before us?” John questioned, taken aback. 

“We took a shortcut so we could be here when you arrived. John come and meet your in-laws.” Mr. Watson directed his son with an arm over his shoulder to face his in-laws. 

“These are your alpha’s parents, Benjamin and Eleanor Holmes.” Mr. Watson introduced, releasing John of his hold and moving to stand beside his wife.

John knew it was a little late to be meeting his in-laws, but seeing as he’d been rather drunk at the wedding, his parents must feel that he’d sobered up some and now was ready to meet them. 

John tipped his head in their direction, still drunk and worried his words would slur when speaking to them. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes smiled softly at him, scanning him as if appraising how many pups he’d give them after his first heat. John’s lips pursed and he turned his attention to the best man. The older man scanned his form, calculatingly, much like his alpha had done the moment he’d seen him. 

“This is your alpha’s older brother, Mycroft Holmes.” Mrs. Watson established, and placed a kind hand on the quiet gentleman’s shoulder. “He will be the mediator. If you need anything, just ask Mycroft and he will do all he can to make you comfortable.”

John almost wanted to laugh. Shouldn’t that be his husband’s job? Turning to stare at his alpha, he found the man staring off at the guests mingling with one another, a bored expression on his face. No. His husband didn’t seem like he would be providing comfort. 

John turned back to his brother in-law and flashed a grateful smile. 

“We’ve wanted to meet you for so long John. We know you will provide our family with plenty of offspring.” Mrs. Holmes admired and John paled.

“Oh yes, he will indeed. The doctors say he is _extremely_ fertile and in good health, even with his injury from the war.” Mrs. Watson broke in and John felt like retching. 

It was true, besides his injured shoulder, the tremors of his hand, and bum leg, he was still highly fertile. For one moment in time John wished with his entire being that he’d been injured to the extent he’d become infertile. There was no use now, he’d returned from the war and married his intended just as his parents wanted. 

“Really!” Mrs. Holmes exclaimed cheerily, a brilliant smile upon her face, seeming to have been reassured of any remaining doubt. 

“Yes. It’s true. Our, dear John, he’s always taken good care of himself, and since he’d been promised we’ve made it a point to have him do quarterly checkups with the gynecologist. Be assured he will birth many pups for the Holmes’.” Mrs. Watson chirped, smiling madly.

John bit his tongue as Mrs. Holmes stared at his stomach appreciatively. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable, his in-laws wanted pups and in two months time he’d be pregnant with his first litter. 

John stepped away to snatch up a glass of wine from a platter one of the servers were passing out. Drinking it quickly he set it back on the tray before the server had barely started to walk off. 

“So, John, tell us about your time in the army.” Mr. Holmes broke in and John felt the color drain from his face.

“Oh, yes. We’d love to hear all about your experience. Where were you stationed last?” Mrs. Holmes added.

Everyone was still, waiting for him to speak, but John couldn’t. How could he talk about his experiences as if he were explaining the weather? Mr. and Mrs. Watson stared at John on edge, knowing he was still suffering from post traumatic stress disorder. They never asked him about his time in the army because they knew there were painful memories there that he still couldn’t come to terms with, but his in-laws didn’t know that. He was seeing a therapist to work through his trauma, but he was far from being healed enough to talk about his experiences. 

John’s body shook, his hands tightening into fists, and he felt a sense of bitterness and unease. He wanted to snap at Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, knowing it was wrong, knowing how disrespectful of an omega he would be to do so, didn’t stop John from taking a threatening step towards his in-laws. John opened his mouth to begin his heated tirade of insults, this over entitled family needed to be reprimanded, they needed to understand that although John was an omega, he was not weak—he never had the opportunity to start his rant though.

A large hand snatched out and claimed his. John’s open mouth closed and his eyes darted to the one who took hold of his hand. Staring alarmed and fearfully up at the hardened features of his alpha as he glared down at him, John was unable to refuse his omega instincts and he lowered his gaze and bowed his head slightly. Still John felt rage for his weakness, for his omega that felt an inexplicable need to please the alpha and attempted to wrench his hand from out of the man’s grip. 

Sherlock held on through his struggle as he broke the long silence. 

“Mummy, John and I will be leaving early. We need our _rest_.” Sherlock spoke the last of his words full of suggestion, that ‘rest’ would be the last thing they’d be doing and John froze.

“ _Oh, my word!_ ” Mrs. Holmes squealed with delight. “Yes, yes of course dear. The two of you have been waiting for each other all your lives. It’s understandable. Yes, go, go and I’ll take care of the guests.” Mrs. Holmes giggled happily.

“Oh, John, your alpha’s besotted with you!” Mrs. Watson giggled along with Mrs. Holmes, but John wouldn’t look at anyone, his gaze was fixed on the firm grasp his alpha had on his hand.

“I hope to see you again Mr. and Mrs. Watson.” Sherlock was cordial as an aristocrat should be and without another word the tall man spun on his heel and forcefully tugged the immobilized John into moving.

John followed the silent alpha out of the large living area full of guests, to a long hall and up three cases of stairs, all the while John struggled against his alpha’s hold, yanking at his hand and attempting to free himself, but his alpha did not release him. For a man who was lean, the alpha was extraordinarily strong and no matter how much of a fight John put the alpha’s hold never faltered. 

John didn’t even realize he’d been dragged into a bedroom until the alpha shut a door behind them and released him of his hold. John cradled his reddening hand the alpha had gripped to so tightly and stumbled back fearfully. When the back of his knees connected with something and he fell back on a plush bed, John whimpered keenly, staring up at the impassive gaze of the alpha.

“Don’t. Please, don’t. I’m not…ready. I was told in two months, not now.” John was stuttering out his plea, but he didn’t care. Alphas were the strongest of all and omegas were the weakest. It didn’t matter if John had a strong will, because an alpha’s strength could easily out power an omega’s struggle.

The alpha before him released a heavy sigh and palmed his eyes, using his slender fingers to rub at them as they clenched tightly together. 

“I won’t do anything of that nature… Not right now. I just… You weren’t having a good time and I didn’t want you to lose your temper and cause a scene. Now we don’t have to go back to the party.” Sherlock explained gently, wandering over to a door that when he opened revealed a walk-in closet full of designer clothing and three of his suitcases.

“Your parents dropped off your suitcases earlier this morning and movers will be bringing the rest of your belongings tomorrow. The door next to the closet leads to the bathroom. Feel free to look around the house from upstairs. I highly doubt you want to be spotted downstairs. I’ll be going to my home office to work on a case. If you need me, it’s the last door of this wing, to the right. This is our room and although we hardly know each other, I hope that you can open yourself up to the idea of us being friends at the very least.” Sherlock sighed softly, carding a hand through curled tresses and flashing a faint smile at the dumbfounded omega.

“Well then… Goodnight.” Sherlock breathed before exiting the room and leaving John to his thoughts.

John gaped disbelievingly at the closed door the alpha exited with both fascination and bewilderment.

“What in the bloody hell was _that!_ ”

  



	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes was three years old when he first discovered he had a promised omega bond mate. He understood the mating traditions, and knew he could only meet his omega on their wedding day. Sherlock carried no desire to meet his promised mate at such a young age. Still, as the years passed and his parents spoke about his omega more and more, a curiosity started to flare within his mind.

Sherlock was an alpha, and no matter how young he was, it was well known that if an alpha met their omega, they would give into their primal instincts and attempt to claim their mate before their omega reached full adulthood. If this were to occur it would damage their omegas fertility. Therefore, Sherlock’s parents had forbidden him from meeting his intended until his omega peaked. 

At age ten, Sherlock felt the need to ask questions about his intended; his name, age, birthday, daily activities, hobbies, interests, goals and so much more. Sherlock didn’t much like the idea of asking his parents, knowing they’d be overjoyed to see he carried some interest in knowing about his intended. Instead, Sherlock went to his older brother Mycroft. He asked the young man to gather all the information he could on his intended. Mycroft smirked knowingly, nodded in agreement, and two weeks later he wordlessly handed over a heavy folder during their Sunday night family dinner. Sherlock lost interest in eating, snatched up the folder and left the table, ignoring his mother who called after him.

Sherlock told himself it was just plain curiosity that drove him to want to know more about this omega. As he sat in his bed later that night shifting through the many papers placed before him, he began storing away the information within his mind palace.

John Watson, born August 25th — a Virgo —, year of the Snake. He was smart, nearly all A’s, a couple of B’s, and one C, but it was workshop and everyone knew that didn’t count. His hobbies and interests consisted of playing rugby, wrestling, kickboxing, spending Tuesday evenings visiting his sick grandmother at her convalescent home. On Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, John worked at his school’s tutoring center and tutored his peers in mathematics and history. On Fridays his parents allowed him and his sister to go out and do whatever they wished, whether it was go out to eat, watch a movie or a sporting event. On Saturdays and Sundays John stayed home with his family, and if they were to do something, it was always together; picnicking at the park, shopping at the mall, riding their bikes around town, going to the beach, etc…

Sherlock was surprised by John’s lifestyle, his interest in playing rough sports — he didn’t fit into the norms of an omega. And yet, somehow Sherlock found it all rather delightful. As Sherlock read on, his face tensed into a deep frown, the alpha within him displeased to find records that John had been and was still being bullied in school. Dozens upon dozens of school fights and evidence of hazing, all started the same way: a group of peers initiating it and John struggling to defend himself. 

Sherlock snarled deeply, chest vibrating when he turned the page to find just as many hospital records. John sustained injuries, so many sprains, near a dozen concussions, a handful of stitches, and one broken wrist. The most recent injury occurred a month earlier; John had received a concussion and fractured back. 

It was hateful, all of it. Why hadn’t his parents told him? Maybe they didn’t know. This couldn’t keep happening. _It was wrong_.

Sherlock left the mess of papers scattered across his bed and hurriedly made his way out of the room. It was late, the lights in the hall were dimmed and he knew everyone would be sleeping, but this couldn’t wait.

Sherlock angrily knocked on the dark wooden door before him, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, awaiting a response. The door slowly opened to reveal an exhausted Mycroft Holmes. The young man raised a hand to rub at his eyes, his dark green silk robe slipping off one shoulder as he did so.

“Sherlock, what is it?” 

“Transfer John to my school.” Sherlock demanded petulantly.

“You know that’s against the rules, your omega hasn’t reached adulthood yet.” Mycroft simpered, seeming overly amused.

“They’re hurting him at his school.” Sherlock stressed quietly, balling his hands into tight fists wondering why the hell he cared so much.

Mycroft stared with consideration, eyes softening. 

“He can’t go to your school as you know, but I will see what can be done. Do you trust me?”

Sherlock let out a long suffering breath, glared at the man’s twinkling eyes and nodded.

“Okay, nothing can be done right this moment, so get some sleep. I’ll handle the rest in the morning.” Mycroft advised, tipped his head with a silent ‘goodnight’ and shut the door. 

Sherlock spun on his heel and let out a grumbling curse, heading to his room. How could he sleep when he’d only read half of the file and there was still so much left to go over?

 

_~~~~~~~~~~~~_

 

“Please.” Sherlock spat out, the word was a horrid one, but he needed Mycroft’ approval. 

“No.” The young gentleman rubbed his index and middle finger against his throbbing right temple.

“You promised.”

“I promised I’d grant you one _reasonable_ birthday wish.” Mycroft pinched, eyes narrowing.

“It _is_ reasonable, if you accompany me. I only turn twelve once.” Sherlock baited. 

Mycroft drew an astonishingly _long_ breath of air, held it for as equally long, scanning and contemplating the young boy before him.

“Please.” Sherlock persisted, eyes softening with desolation.

“Okay.” Mycroft exhaled the breath of air he’d held for so long and with it the rest of his resolve. 

“You must stay next to me the whole time!”

“I will.” Sherlock swore and grinned toothily, butterflies swarming in his stomach.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Muscular legs tensed, trembling as they bent low, sweat beading along smooth thighs. 

Sherlock squirmed in his seat at the top of the stands, his breathing irregular, lips dry, fingers wringing at themselves. 

Sculpted arms bent back, biceps tightening, firm, so — _Oh, Lord_ — firm.

Sherlock swallowed dryly. Palming his damp forehead, pulling back curled bangs that stuck there.

_God it was hot. Who knew November got this hot._

Sherlock leaned forward as the man came closer, left the field and took a cup of water from the water boy. Water drizzled from the edges of his mouth as he drank from the cup. It slid a slow—agonizingly slow path down a shapely neck and disappeared under a fitted dark blue jersey. His neck was so thick, the young man’s neck covered in sweat, glistened in the sunlight. An Adonis. 

_Oh!_

Sherlock choked on spit and lent back, needing more space than the twenty feet separating them.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft groused from beside him, a deep frown across his face, noticing the change.

“I… I’ll behave.” Sherlock whispered, afraid if he spoke any louder, he’d squeak his response.

“If it’s too difficult, we can still leave.”

“No!” Sherlock squawked, gaining several stares from people seated near them and flushed with embarrassment.

Mycroft huffed in annoyance, leaned back in his seat, folded his arms, and continued to watch the rugby match.

Sherlock’s attention snapped back to the young man before him and held back a groan as his beautiful omega took another cup of water, this time pouring it over his flushed face.

“Niin kaunis. Niin kaunis ja minun.” (So beautiful. So beautiful and mine.) Sherlock murmured in Finnish, knowing for a fact it was one of the languages Mycroft had yet to learn, feeling the need to voice the words forcing their way out.

Sherlock had absolutely no idea if John’s team was winning or not. He never cared to learn how rugby worked. All he came for was his omega, God, _his omega_. So beautiful, so strong, so… 

_Oh..._

John tackled a player from the opposite team, remaining on top of him for barely a moment after the initial fall, but Sherlock’s body tensed and a deep rumbling growl resonating through his bones.

“ _Sherlock_.” Mycroft warned.

Sherlock took several deep breaths, calming himself. He didn’t like it, but understood that this was a game. Only a game, his omega was still his. 

“ _Oma kihlattu._ ” (My betrothed.) Sherlock reassured himself and ignored that Mycroft wasn’t watching the game anymore, but keeping a close eye on Sherlock, worried he’d try and claim the eighteen year old omega on the field, in front of everyone. 

_Really_ , Sherlock wasn’t a barbarian. He’d first drag John to his home before bonding. 

John moved back to the sidelines several long minutes later, sat on a bench near the outer frame of the field and wiped the sweat covering his face and neck with a towel. Sherlock wanted to be that towel. He desperately wished to scent his omega. He needed to know John’s scent, but there was so many people, so many sweating players, all the scents clouded his senses and he couldn’t possibly discern his omega’s from the rest. 

John was good. He was strong, agile, quick and _gorgeous_ , Sherlock couldn’t forget gorgeous. It was very important. He watched with interest and excitement as John won his team point after point—he knew that much at least. When the crowd surrounding him sat up and roared in triumph, Sherlock realized that John’s team won the game. 

Mycroft and Sherlock remained seated, allowing the others to shift off of the stands and leave. When there were only a handful of players left, John having left—disappearing in the swarm of the crowd, Mycroft and Sherlock rose to leave the high school.

“Happy?” Mycroft asked, releasing a heavy sigh, obviously having been stressed by the dangers of Sherlock being so close to his omega and nearly losing himself to instinct.

“Deliriously.” Sherlock chuckled, flashing a lopsided grin to Mycroft who shook his head with disbelief. 

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, because we’re not doing this again. It’s too much of a risk.” Mycroft needed to clarify.

Sherlock nodded his head in acknowledgement as they stepped off the stairs and paused on their way to the parking lot.

“What is it?” 

“Wait one moment.” Sherlock requested, before Mycroft could stop him, he was rushing over to the players bench, there… Just as Sherlock suspected, there lay the same bright red towel John used to dry himself.

Sherlock snatched it up and stuffed it into his pea coat pocket in one quick motion, then wordlessly strolled back to Mycroft’s side. The two walked quietly together, Sherlock unable to remove the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t even care when Mycroft chuckled softly to himself. 

After spending a ridiculous amount of time with his parents, indulging in the dozens of photographs with them and other family members, hearing jovial speeches and well wishes, cutting a blasted colorful cake, thanking his family and guests for their gifts, Sherlock was _finally_ allowed to go upstairs.

He could only wait until he reached his wing of the house before removing the still slightly damp towel from out of his pocket and pressed it up against his nose. Sherlock inhaled the first deep breath of his omega. Sea-green eyes opened wide, Sherlock’s legs buckling slightly under him and he was forced to slap a hand against the wall near him for support. He stilled his movements, removing the cloth from his nose and struggled to calm his suddenly uneven breaths. 

“ _Oh!_ ” Sherlock laughed unsteadily, knowing he was going just a bit insane, completely enthralled and done in by _that_ scent.

Damp moss, rosewood, and hazelnut — who would have thought he’d have such a head rush from just one whiff of his omega. 

Sherlock looked around him, knowing how irrational he was being, no one would be in his wing, especially when they were all downstairs enjoying the celebration. Still, Sherlock felt almost guilty as if he were being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

The young alpha rushed the remaining distance to his room, locking the door behind him before toeing off his shoes and diving onto the bed. He didn’t even understand what he was doing really. All he could do was follow his instincts, and they were telling him to remove his clothing. 

When he finally got rid of his garments, he took hold of the red cloth and pressed his nose against it. He moaned throatily, falling back onto the bed, and touching his bare chest with his other hand. God, his body felt warm in ways he couldn’t understand, as if something was alight within.

“Jesus!” Sherlock whimpered, his lower region pulsing with life… Never… Not once… He thought it was broken… That something was wrong, until now. But he could feel it, his first ever erection. 

Sherlock moaned noisily, running his hand down the expanse of his torso and lower still. Taking hold of himself, his hard cock grew thicker, rising and hardening. 

“Oh.” Sherlock huffed heavily, swiping the towel across his nose, nuzzling the fabric as if it were his omega’s scent gland. 

His fangs, fangs that had never descended until this very moment, lengthened and felt the urge to pierce through skin and mark what was his. Sherlock thrust his hips up, up into the loose hold of his hand, seeking friction, _needing_ friction, heat, warmth, his omega. 

“Oh!” Sherlock gasped, thrusting harder, faster, but it wasn’t enough.

Snuffling the towel so hard now, the fuzzy cloth was sucked into his nostrils and Sherlock felt droplets of warmth trickle out of his spouting head. His needy cry shifted into a reverberating howl, a song beckoning his mate.

Sherlock whimpered knowing his omega could not hear him, would not come, was forbidden from seeing him. Withering against the mattress, thighs trembling with each frantic thrust, he came to the pained realization that his hand wasn’t enough. He wanted John. His mind was steadily clouding over with pleasure, but Sherlock all of a sudden understood what was happening, what had changed. Why Mycroft hadn’t wanted to take him so close to his omega. 

Rut…

Sherlock wasn’t thrusting, he was rutting, trying to rut into his hand, but it wasn’t working. 

“John.” Sherlock moaned, fondling his monstrous alpha cock. Jerking himself in ruthless painful tugs, squeezing his hand around himself as hard as he could, hurting himself, but needing the imitation of rutting into his omega. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock mewled, the bed creaking, his hips bouncing off the bedsprings, a layer of sweat materializing along his skin. 

“Oh, John!” Sherlock grunted, fucking his hand viciously, gritting his teeth, burning sensitive skin.

The base of his cock swelled, a knot forming, growing every second Sherlock neared total bliss. 

“Fuck, John. I’m going to mount you so well!” Sherlock groaned his promise, head pressing heavily against his pillow, words muffled by the towel shoved deep against his nose and mouth.

“Mine, all mine!” Sherlock panted, body breaking out into uncontrollable tremors. “ _Oh God!_ ”

A wet tongue dived out to swallow some of the towel, trying to smother the cries spilling out of him. Sherlock howled as the saltiness of his omega filled his mouth and he started to cum. Waves of torrent pleasure, excitement and toe-curling goodness washed over him. The wet splatter of cum spurting out and covered his stomach in its spunk, and Sherlock couldn’t stop sobbing out choked cries of ecstasy. His sticky cum drenched hand lowered the expanse of his jolting cock and fisted his knot. He began squeezing and twisting his knot, more cum rushed out, a pool of pearly white liquid smearing over genitals. 

“Oh, John, all this was for you.” Sherlock whispered and stared at all the cum, experiencing his first rut alone, all his cum wasted, meant to have been used to fill and breed his omega. 

Panting shakily Sherlock watched as the streaming cum decreased and his knot receded. When the last of his spunk sputtered out and the knot disappeared Sherlock’s body drooped back against the bed. His muscles relaxed and he lay there, breathing shakily for long moments, still pressing the towel to his nose, nuzzling it fondly.

“Bloody hell, that felt good,” Sherlock said to no one, staring in a daze up at the ceiling, feeling all kinds of right just lying in his bed. His cock, stomach and thighs were covered in a thick layer of cum. 

Sherlock laughed, thoroughly spent and jubilant, the towel was the best birthday gift of his entire life.

Sherlock would later learn that on that very same day, John began his second heat cycle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When his parents began to plan his wedding with John a week later, Sherlock hadn’t said anything. Though Mycroft smirked knowingly, seeming to sense Sherlock’s voiceless support and Sherlock had been sure to leave the room, so as not to give Mycroft the satisfaction of seeing his smile.

The wedding planning had only just begun when the Watsons called and informed them that John had enlisted himself in the army. Sherlock’s parents, although disappointed, thought it would most likely be better if they held off the wedding, since Sherlock was still rather young. Age really didn’t matter, so long as an alpha and omega reached sexual maturity, and Sherlock felt bitterness consume him. He couldn’t help wonder if the reason John was enlisting was to get out of marrying him.

His parents reassured him that his omega wanted this arrangement and that he wanted to marry and mate with him, and Sherlock was desperate to believe them and so he did. During the time John was on tour Sherlock dedicated himself to his studies. 

He transferred to college at fourteen, and Sherlock found the students to be incompetent and not worth the time to socialize with. He spent his college years studying and experimenting. Several years after graduating from college, he began solving cases for the NSY—though they didn’t ask for his assistance at first, they slowly sought his aide. They came to see his remarkable talents of deduction. 

Sherlock struggled to get John Watson out of his mind, and spent many nights lying in bed, holding the now tattered, faded towel in his hand and thinking about his omega. The towel no longer smelled of his omega, but Sherlock had been sure to catalog John’s scent within his mind. What had once started as mere curiosity had developed over the years. Sherlock received files monthly after the first he’d requested from Mycroft. Each time, Sherlock was filled with excitement and fascination. John Watson beguiled him. 

Sherlock once read somewhere that an obsession took 2 to 3 years to break. He told himself that was what this was, but when year 4 came and went, and his feelings only grew, Sherlock knew he’d been done in. Obsession wasn’t what this was. Sherlock could scarcely admit to himself that he’d somehow, unbelieving as it was, he’d fallen in love and he couldn’t seem to break this affection welded deep within his heart.

When Sherlock’s parents asked him if he were okay with his omega’s choice to reenlist after his first tour, he’d felt the need to reassure his worried intended’s parents. He’d called them and spoke to them, assuring them that he supported John’s decision and they were in no hurry to marry, they had all the time in the world. Though secretly he’d worried that John might not make it home and when war broke out, he found himself watching the news late at night, calling Mycroft for updates on John’s whereabouts and health. He was reassured that Mycroft would let him know if anything ever was to happen and he trusted his brother enough to believe him.

Mycroft called him one night to inform him that dreaded day had arrived, Sherlock had been confined to the estate, several armed secret service agents were assigned to keep a watch of Sherlock. All Sherlock wanted to do was find his omega, to reassure himself that he was fine, but he was denied the chance to leave the estate and visit his omega when he’d been sent back home.

Sherlock’s alpha instincts to find and protect his omega abated after Mycroft sent a copy of John’s hospital records for him to see the proof that John was indeed fine. The agents left the estate and Sherlock was allowed to accompany Mycroft in a car and drive out in front of his intended’s family home. There, they sat in silence as Sherlock watched on edge as a much older, and worn out looking John Watson limped out of his home, supporting himself with a cane and entering his sister’s waiting car. 

“Every Monday morning, Harriet drives John for physical therapy. Sadly, he’ll never be a surgeon again.”

Sherlock choked back a whine, watching as John drove off and disappeared around the corner.

“Give him four months to recuperate, but no more. I will marry him. It’s time I am by his side,” Sherlock demanded of the silent man.

“Done.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you give it to them?” Sherlock’s voice strummed with anxiety, the priest beside him letting out impatient sigh after sigh. The wedding was running late.

“Yes, Sherlock. His mother will be sure he wears it,” Mycroft drawled exasperatedly.

“You told her to let him know I chose it, right?”

“ _Yes, Sherlock_.”

“That I chose it for him especially, right?” Sherlock added, and his eyebrows rose expectantly.

Mycroft inhaled deeply and threw Sherlock a look.

“ _Yes_.”

“Good. That’s good,” Sherlock shakily answered, nodding his head with approval, he needed to have his omega understand he cared. That the planning of the wedding wasn’t just done by their parents, but that he had participated as well.

“Breathe, Sherlock.”

“I am breathing!” Sherlock sniped and Mycroft smirked knowingly, raising a hand to clasp a comforting hold of the lanky man’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When John stood before him, at the end of the altar, wearing the tuxedo he’d chosen, tan skin a glow in the warm lights hanging above them, Sherlock was mesmerized. His beautiful omega, at last would be his. Sherlock couldn’t contain the smile that graced his lips, but then everything changed…

Sherlock only then noticing the complete and utter fear in his omega’s gaze and watched in horror as John stepped back and away. He heard the distant murmurs of disbelief as the guests watched his omega take another step back and the smile upon Sherlock’s mouth disappeared and confusion took hold.

John wanted this. Everyone had told him so, but now, only now could Sherlock see the utter refusal. John didn’t want this. John didn’t want him.

_Don’t run…_

Mrs. Watson stood and hurriedly went to her son’s side and Sherlock felt a pang of soreness claim his heart as his omega whimpered, whimpered for his mother’s comfort because he was afraid of Sherlock. 

“He’s frightened by me,” Sherlock whispered and felt Mycroft press his hand once more on his shoulder in comfort.

“He doesn’t know you like you know him.” 

Sherlock knew Mycroft was right, but this was wrong. Sherlock grimaced as John slowly made his way towards him, trembling with fear, holding to his mother as if she was his lifeline. Sherlock wasn’t an aggressive alpha, he wasn’t a brute. He really wasn’t. Yet John treated him as if he were, keeping his eyes to the ground, never even trying to meet his gaze. Sherlock’s eyes softened, silently pleading with his omega to raise his head up, meet his kind eyes and know that Sherlock would cherish him. 

John never raised his gaze. Not even when his mother seated herself and the priest began speaking. Sherlock defiantly took a half step forward and waited for some type of reaction, all he received was the intense smell of fear radiating off of his omega. Sherlock wanted to howl his sorrow. All the years he’d spent thinking about this day, anticipating it, John, his sweet omega was dreading it. It was too cruel. How could his omega fear him already? Sherlock hadn’t done anything to warrant this fear. Sherlock was a quiet, calm, kind alpha. Sure he could be possessive, but he wasn’t aggressive. 

When Sherlock took hold of John’s hand and slipped on the wedding ring, he felt sick to his stomach, his omega still refusing to look at him. As John viciously shoved the ring he held on Sherlock’s finger, Sherlock bit back a pained whimper. _So cruel, his omega was too cruel._

Then it was time to give John the bond bite and he cautiously drew in his omega with an arm around his waist. John voicelessly tipped his head back and revealed his tan neck and scent gland. Sherlock found mild comfort in inhaling his omega. Through the fear, Sherlock could scent his omega’s true scent as it calmed him enough so that he began to find enjoyment in gliding his lips over smooth skin, and located the perfect place for the bond bite. 

Fangs dug deep, piercing through the tender flesh and Sherlock couldn’t hold in the possessive growl that rumbled out of him. John was his. All his and he felt at peace, knowing he didn’t have to worry anymore, that everyone would know John had an alpha.

Sherlock slowly retracted his fangs and laved at the wound, drinking up the blood, until the punctured skin clotted. Pulling away, Sherlock forced himself to take two steps back as to keep from following his instincts that told him, bonding came after the bond bite. 

Within the reception hall Sherlock couldn’t tear his eyes away from his omega seated at the open bar, drinking gloomily with his sister. His parents and in-laws tried to talk to him, but he didn’t pay them much mind. His omega really felt the need to drink his sorrows away. Did he really hate Sherlock so much so that he needed to get himself drunk?

Sherlock wasn’t sure how long it was, but finally John was sliding off the stool at the bar and turning to them. His features remained impassive as not to disturb his omega. How embarrassing this was for him. Sherlock, a man who prided himself on being so perceptive, hadn’t calculated that his omega would completely reject him.

When John sat beside him, Sherlock made it a point to keep his distance. John feared him. It would be best this way.

“Talk to him.” Mycroft encouraged, his words soft so only Sherlock could hear.

“He’s afraid.” Sherlock responded, leaning close to his brother and turning away from his husband.

“If he gets to know you, he’ll realize there is nothing to fear.”

“He’s inebriated.” 

Mycroft pursed his lips, leaned forward slightly to stare at the omega who struggled to aim a forkful of chicken in his mouth and snickered.

“Later, I suppose.”

“Yes. Later,” Sherlock grumbled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The party at the estate was godawful. John was uncomfortable and Sherlock felt irritated by the ridiculous prattling of their parents, but had to endure it for just a bit longer. Then Sherlock could come up with a way for them to leave. Only his parents asked John about his time in the army and Sherlock took note of the anger quickly rising to the surface of the voiceless omega.

Sherlock needed to defuse the situation and quickly, or his omega would start another scene. This one would be far worse, in front of his entire family. John was an omega and he was to be an obedient mate. But since Sherlock was ten, he suspected his omega was the farthest thing from obedient. Sherlock didn’t mind. John could be as aggressive as he liked, if he wanted to control their marriage, Sherlock would follow his omega’s lead. But this couldn’t stand. Sherlock really didn’t mind John snapping at his parents, he’d rather enjoy hearing what the man had to say, but this was different. Sherlock didn’t want his entire family to despise John for being disrespectful to Sherlock’s status as an alpha.

So Sherlock took hold of his omega’s hand, gave him a look of warning and felt his stomach knot sickeningly when his omega cowered under him, fear and respect demonstrated. Sherlock didn’t want that. He didn’t want to scare his omega into submission. He didn’t want his omega to submit to him. Who was he to make another bow down before him? He wasn’t a king. No. John should be praised for his courage, for being outspoken, strong and a leader. Sherlock should bow to John, give John his obedience. 

None of this was right, but Sherlock took charge, made it appear as if he desired to claim his mate then, and not during his omega’s heat cycle, which was traditionally done. Mycroft stared on knowingly as Sherlock spun and dragged the struggling omega out of the room.

As he led them the long way up to his room, he fought all of John’s tugs, jerks and shoves. He held tightly to John’s hand until they entered his room and finally let his omega free. He watched with self-loathing as his omega cowered away from him, stumbling in his rush to create distance. When he fell against his bed and whimpered weakly, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees before John’s feet, bare his neck to his omega, demonstrate on a primal base that he wasn’t here to dominate, claim or breed John. All Sherlock wanted was to protect him, to keep him safe, to be his friend if John should be so generous. 

Sherlock wanted John. Desired to have him, but none of that was more important than providing his omega contentment. Sherlock made that as clear as his pride would allow and tried to smile, but it was painful. Painful to smile knowing his omega rejected him in every way. Sherlock didn’t waste any time, and when he’d said all he could, he rushed for the door, tail between his legs. 

When Sherlock entered his home office, he collapsed onto his grey leather chair and angrily yanked his tie off, throwing it as far as he could before burying his head in his hands and let out a soft, wrecked whine.

  



	3. Chapter 3

John sat in silence, staring blankly at the door leading out of the bedroom. His alpha didn’t want to claim him now? He’d implied as much to their parents. _Rest_ , implied claiming, he was certain the alpha stressed that particular word, but why then did he leave? John was bought with the single purpose of mating with his alpha, albeit he wasn’t in heat, that didn’t mean his alpha didn’t have the right to claim him now if he so desired. True, tradition stated that an alpha and omega should first bond on an omega’s heat cycle, but that was a tradition only some practiced. 

It was understandable that after such a long wait an alpha would become overcome by instincts and would seek to mount their omega soon after meeting. Why then did his alpha... John didn’t believe the alpha’s reasoning. He was an alpha. Why would he care about John’s feelings? He was trying to trick him, make him believe he was different, kind. There was no such thing as a kind alpha. Even his father, granted he was a good father and husband, he was aggressive and overbearing. Only kind to his family who he loved, but to strangers and people he disliked, he was quite the opposite. 

Alphas, although prone to being aggressive, brutish, and cruel, if they truly loved someone, they could be most affectionate and doting to their loved ones. Sherlock didn’t love John, didn’t even know him, so why was he pretending to be kind? John wouldn’t believe him. John would not trust the man. Sherlock was an alpha. Alphas were vicious, cruel, and aggressive, Sherlock was the same, but he hid it well. 

John scanned the room, gaining his bearings. The room was spacious, larger than his living room and dining room combined. This was now his room, his home, and John loathed it. Hated the elegant oriental carpets, the fine wooden furniture, the luxurious bed covered in silk-like pricy dark blue comforter and sheets, it was all detestable. 

Cautiously, John rose from the bed and went inside the walk in closet. John might as well unpack; he was now legally bound and mated. As deplorable as it was, this was now his home. As he hung his clothes on racks beside his husband’s, John couldn’t help but notice how all his alpha’s clothing were designer, tailor fitted, and it annoyed him. It reminded him how materialistic and wealthy his alpha’s family was. How they’d bought him. How he’d been sold because he was an omega, meant to be bred. 

When John first discovered that his parents were receiving payments from his alpha’s family, he rejected the money. John found himself a job soon after the revelation and bought whatever it was he needed with the money he earned. He didn’t want his alpha’s money. He didn’t want his alpha, period.

John soon finished unpacking and shoved the empty suitcases in the back of the closet on the furthest wall. Retrieving a pair of black sweats and gray short sleeve t-shirt, he went to the bathroom to shower and change. He was stunned to find that someone had already set out a fresh white towel and various hygienic products, several of each item. 

Setting his things on the counter, he retrieved the ones most agreeable to his preferences and entered the shower. For long moments John just let the heated water spray his body, slowly soothing the tension. A maid must have done it. An alpha wouldn’t concern themselves over their omega’s comfort. Once John finished showering and readied himself for bed, he shut off the lights and slipped under the covers and stared at nothing, lost in thought.

The alpha…looked sad. John recalled that faint smile the alpha flashed him, only now understanding the pain bleeding out of those stunning eyes. Why? Disappointment, John wasn’t what the alpha expected. Shutting his eyes, he released a shuddering breath and forced out a weak laugh. What did his alpha expect? Just because he was an omega, it didn’t mean he was as beautiful as the alpha. John was short, average looking, and now after the war, broken. Of course his alpha was disappointed. Still, John was fertile and an omega. Omegas were the only ones capable of producing a full litter. Betas could only birth one or two pups at a time, whereas omegas could birth as many as ten pups. This still made John highly valued and this was the sole reason he’d been bought. 

Burying his face into the silken pillow under him, John let out a startled moan. His alpha… His alpha’s scent was everywhere and now; breaking away from the swarming thoughts rushing through his mind, he was finally able to let his senses take effect. Oh, how was he to sleep with this scent cloying his senses in its bitter sweetness? His omega wanted to suffocate itself in the alpha’s scent, rub his body against the sheets, drenching himself in his alpha’s aroma until it clung to him as he wanted to cling to his alpha. 

John growled angrily, fisting his hands around the sheets and rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. How could he sleep, this was a new place, a new bed, new scents overwhelming him, and he feared for the moment his alpha would return and take up the space next to him on the bed. 

In two months John would start his heat. A heat he’d suppressed for twelve years. John was a doctor. He knew the effects of suppressants and what would occur during the first heat after. Going just one year on suppressants and then off, caused a heat cycle to be more intense. Sense of logic and control would slowly dissolve, until the first gush of slick was dispelled, then the individual would be driven to mate. There were even some cases where a beta or omega attacked their alpha counterpart. This was only after one year of taking suppressants. John had never heard of anyone going _twelve years_ on suppressants then stopping. John had missed forty-eight consecutive heat cycles. The gynecologist assured him his fertility was still intact and timed his next heat cycle to begin in two months. However, John was worried about what would happen at that time.

The soft tapping of fine leather shoes echoed from outside the room. John tensed, rolled back on his side, facing away from the door, and threw the covers over his head. Tensing when the door creaked as the alpha entered the room and he shut the door noiselessly behind him. John strained to hear the alpha as he moved within the dark; the alpha was making it a point to remain quiet, and it was hard for John to hear much. However, he heard the door to the closet open, the dull clacking of hangers moving, shuffling of clothing, the shutting of the closet, then another door opening — the bathroom, before it shut.

John sighed heavily when the shower hissed with life. He took this opportunity to move further away from the center of the bed and to the very edge, needing more room than the Super King sized bed provided. Sooner than John was ready for, the shower shut off and several moments later the door opened again. Sherlock shuffled around the room, the closet door opening once more, and John knew he was putting his tuxedo away. When the door shut, John listened warily as the alpha neared the bed from behind him. His heart hammering against his chest as the sheets shifted and the mattresses dipped when Sherlock slid under the sheets. 

Sherlock didn’t move after that. John remained still, listening with eyes wide open in the darkness. He could hear the alpha breathing soft measured breaths, but he knew he wasn’t asleep, just lying in the silence much like himself. Maybe… Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he wanted to...to give John a test run. 

“I’m not going to do anything to you, not… Not if you don’t want it.” The alpha spoke reassuringly.

John bit his bottom lip, holding back a relieved sigh, not wanting to test his luck. 

Silence once more filled the dark room. Lying in a large bed, that didn’t feel large enough, John shifted once more until half his body was lying oddly on the edge of the mattress. 

“You don’t have to fear me. I won’t hurt you.” Sherlock declared thoughtfully, seeming to notice John’s response, he added, “ _I’d never hurt you_.”

John didn’t believe him.

“You’re an alpha.” John shot back, giving up the pretense of sleeping and shifted once more in the bed, but he couldn’t move any further off or he’d fall. Distracted with his efforts in creating further distance between them, John wasn’t sure if his ears were playing a trick on him, but it almost sounded like the alpha whimpered.

“I’m not that kind of alpha.” Sherlock protested.

John didn’t speak. Alphas were the top dogs, the most powerful. Sherlock couldn’t deny what was instinctual. All alphas were the same.

“Can you at least try to accept me?” Came the fraught query.

John almost wanted to laugh. Did the alpha really think he would believe him? When had an alpha pleaded with an omega? When had an alpha waited for an omega to concede permission of anything? Never. Alphas were domineering and Sherlock was no better. He’d growled possessively when giving John the bond bite, a clear indication that this alpha wanted to possess his body. John would not conform.

“You bought me. I don’t need to accept anything. You can _take_ what you want from me at anytime and I must endure it.”

Sherlock said nothing for a long time, the silence continued, and John believed that was it. That this conversation was over and shut his eyes trying to force himself to sleep, and then the alpha rasped, almost brokenly, “ _You’re too cruel_.”

John really did laugh then, a sardonic bitter laugh. 

“What does that make you; someone who bought an omega bitch to be bred?” John asked furiously, eyes stinging within the darkness. 

“Someone that is willing to try!” 

“I don’t.”

“Can you just… See me as a man, not an alpha?”

John pursed his lips unsatisfied with the alpha’s request. 

“What does it matter how I see you? I was bought to be bred.”

“Stop saying that!” Sherlock hissed furiously and John slammed his eyes shut tightly, preparing for the blow that usually came.

“ _John_.” Sherlock really did whimper, scenting John’s terror.

“Do it.” John baited angrily. “I know you want to!”

John sat up in bed, suddenly bursting with rage, if the alpha wanted to inflict pain on him, let him. He’d spent years being bullied by betas, why not let the alpha do the same. It would just give him more of a reason to hate the man. 

“I told you already that I won’t hurt you! Why won’t you believe me?” Sherlock pleaded helplessly, his voice was raw. John wasn’t sure if it was because he’d strained it or was choking back emotion. Sherlock rose up from the bed and the two stared at the shadow of the other’s form. 

“I won’t believe you.” 

“Why?”

“You’re an alpha.”

“I’m a person too.”

“An animal.”

“Why did you even marry me?” Sherlock's voice was overwrought with grief, and John was bewildered when he noticed within the dim lighting the moon casted over their forms, the alpha was trembling. 

“Omegas are to be bound and bred by their chosen alpha. I was born a bitch and was bought to do as you wish.”

Deadening silence bled through the room and John breathed heavily as the alpha remained voiceless. The tall man bowed his head and let out a wavering breath. 

“Through your eyes... I must seem like a monster.” 

Fury coiled in the pit of John’s stomach. 

“Have you never wondered about me? Thought that maybe I would be different? I _don’t_ want to dominate you. Why can’t you see that?”

John stared calculatingly at the alpha, suspicious of his motives. 

“If that is true… You would be the first.” John lay back down on the bed, giving the alpha his back and staring at the wall across from him.

“Please… Believe me.” The alpha gently pled. 

John ignored him, not having the courage to admit how he wanted to believe what the alpha said. Except… It would go against everything he’d been taught to believe about alpha/omega dynamics. How could he trust a stranger? 

The alpha shifted behind him, moving closer to the middle of the bed and John tensed. His omega willing him to scoot closer, to allow his alpha to scent him as was usually done once an omega was bitten. He should be inviting his alpha to comfort his fears, to let their scents mingle with one another, to make this bed, this room…their own. John denied his omega’s requests. He rejected this alpha. This alpha wasn’t his mate — not by choice. 

A warm hand pressed against his left shoulder blade as the alpha wordlessly and with great caution moved several more inches closer. 

“Please.” The alpha breathed despairingly. 

John’s teeth clamped tightly together. He didn’t want this. 

“ _Please…_ ” The alpha implored brokenly.

John’s body quivered, face hardening into a pained grimace as the alpha tenderly wrapped his arms around his waist and gradually drew him to the middle of the bed. John’s back pressed into a lean chest, heated breath caressed a chilling path along his neck, and warm hands splayed over his stomach. 

“Let me in.” 

John tucked his head in the pillow under him, inhaling deeply, scenting the alpha and hating how an involuntary gasp escaped. 

“You own me. Do as you wish.” John bit out.

John flinched when lips pressed against the fresh bond bite, soft lips grazed the tender flesh, but never did anything more than that. John couldn’t seem to relax in the alpha’s hold, even if he wanted to fight his way out of it, it would be useless, alphas were stronger than omegas. This was better than bonding, better than being bred. He just needed to stay still, allow his alpha to scent him, reassure his alpha instincts that John was his. If he did this, it bought him two more months to prepare himself for the dreaded day his heat cycle would begin.

“ _John_ , I promise that I will cherish you.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Why was the alpha trying so hard to convince him he was a good man, when they both knew he wasn’t? He was a possessive alpha. That was all John would ever see him as, nothing more. Just as John was only an omega bitch bought to birth Sherlock’s kin. 

John wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but he’d been aware that the alpha remained awake as his eyes became heavy towards the early hours of morning. When he woke later that morning, he was alone in bed, and he frowned with annoyance as he could still scent the alpha on him. Rising from the bed, John headed straight for the bathroom, needing to shower and wash off as much of the alpha’s scent as was physically possible.

  



	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock sat dejectedly within his office and stared blankly at the wall before him. 

_He hates me…_

Pale grey eyes lowered and stared down at the ground. Sherlock never once felt shame for being an alpha, but he wasn’t overly prideful about it either. He’d accepted his status and thought nothing more about it. Now… Sherlock would give anything to renounce his status. If there were a way to surgically remove whatever part of him made him an alpha, he’d do it now. 

_"In what vile part of this anatomy, doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack, the hateful mansion."_

Sherlock laughed bitterly, recollecting that particular line in William Shakespeare's most beloved play, Romeo and Juliet. When first reading the play, he never could quite understand the pain Romeo experienced, though now, it was all too clear. Only where Romeo’s Juliet loved him, his John would never love him. Sherlock was the thing John despised most, an alpha. 

All night as Sherlock held John, scenting him, the omega remained stiff in his arms. It seemed too cruel to finally hold his omega in his arms, and know he’d never posses John’s heart. John feared him. A part of Sherlock understood how this might feel for John. As a young boy John was ridiculed, bullied, and harmed by betas. Mycroft’s help had come too late, the mental damage had been done, only now did Sherlock realize this and it pained him. 

Most betas envied omegas, whereas alphas worshiped omegas. John was raised with betas, in an all beta school. Alphas were educated separately. Sherlock wished things had been different back then. That he’d taken an interest in his omega sooner, and stopped the hazing earlier. There was no telling what these betas had done to make John believe Sherlock was a monster. Nevertheless, Sherlock was now to pay for their hateful lies. 

Sherlock never did sleep that night. He had lain in their bed cradling John within his arms and watched him as he’d drifted to sleep. Sherlock had stayed with his omega until the bright sunlight shone through the windows, illuminating the room. Sherlock remembered how he’d spent long moments caressing the relaxed features of John’s cheek as he slept. His fingers grazing John’s bottom lip, so full and inviting, and he’d desperately wanted to kiss him; claim those innocent lips as his own, but John would fear him even more if he were to wake to the alpha taking advantage of his resting form. At least his omega trusted him enough to sleep in his arms. Maybe there was hope for them. If he was patient enough, John might take his words to heart; know that Sherlock would cherish him all the days of his life. Or…things would remain the same and John would never accept him as his mate.

Sherlock palmed his eyes in one hand, shielding them from the harsh light of morning. Sucking in his bottom lip, Sherlock bit into it harshly and released a wounded moan. 

_He will never love me…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John sat in a grand room, an elongated eloquently decorated table showcasing various choices for breakfast set out before him. At either end of the table sat Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and directly across from him sat Mycroft Holmes. They all sat quietly, two pairs of eyes staring John down, evaluating him with fascination. John stared at each of them, giving them a slow nod of greeting before lowering his gaze to his empty plate.

He didn’t have the energy to speak and knew the best option for him to remain quiet was by filling his mouth with food. John helped himself, stacking his plate with pancakes, eggs, fruit salad, and bacon. As he ate, John glanced curiously back up to the Holmes’.

_Yes. They were still staring._

Mr. Holmes ate his breakfast more than he stared at John, but Mrs. Holmes grinned happily at him, obviously pleased he had a healthy appetite. John scowled, something about the way she looked at him made him feel ill at ease, and it seemed that she was always appraising his value. His healthy appetite seeming to be another sign that he would take good care of his litter once impregnated. 

John’s fork clanked against the table, suddenly losing his appetite. 

“Oh, Sherlock! We were wondering when you would arrive. Come sit, eat.” Mrs. Holmes giggled, finding something amusing about the situation and John was at a loss as to what.

Sherlock stood near the entrance. Hair damp from a recent shower, his face pale—paler than the day before, eyes red, dark bags evident. He wore a tightly fitted white shirt, black tailored slacks, and jacket. Freshly polished leather shoes shining brightly as he moved to seat himself in the chair beside John’s. 

John directed his sights to the table and raised his glass of water, drinking a large amount, trying to settle the churning in his stomach.

“Eat sweetheart, you look positively famished. You must have worn yourself out.” Mrs. Holmes giggled cheerily. 

It suddenly dawned on John; Mrs. Holmes was so buoyant because she believed they’d consummated their marriage. John was eating like a starved man who’d drained himself of nourishment and they both looked as if they’d gone hours without sleep. True they’d spent most of the night awake, John refusing to sleep in the alpha’s hold, but he’d still somehow fallen asleep. Sherlock, however, looked as if he still hadn’t slept as of yet. 

Sherlock sighed heavily and without a word he placed a small amount of eggs and bacon on his plate. He poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle set beside them and then began eating as if he hadn’t heard his mother’s suggestive implications. As he ate, Sherlock’s eyes drifted to his side and glanced over to John. Throughout their meal he continued to feel the alpha’s stare, but he never acknowledged it. 

John wanted to protest. To tell the Holmes’ that wasn’t what happened, but he couldn’t seem to work up the courage to speak aloud. The meal continued in relative silence. Mrs. Holmes did most of the talking, reminiscing on how beautiful the wedding was, how she was pleased to see everyone who’d been invited had attended, etc... John tuned her out. 

Forking at his eggs absentmindedly, John’s ears perked when he heard his name. Raising his eyes and meeting the icy stare of Mycroft, John realized he’d been asked a question, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what it had been. 

A deep rumbling broke the momentary calm and John fixed his eyes on Sherlock, the alpha glaring at Mycroft.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said in warning. 

Mycroft met Sherlock’s furious stare not phased in the least.

“It’s a valid question, brother.” Mycroft reasoned. 

“None of which is your concern.” Sherlock leaned closer to the table and John was reminded of an animal going in for the kill, “He’s my husband.” 

“Really, now, Sherlock.” Mycroft smiled amused, “I’ve been assigned as mediator. I have the right to ask if he needs my assistance.” 

John froze, so that was what the older Holmes brother asked of him? It was true Mycroft had been assigned his mediator. An omega was always appointed a mediator within the alpha’s family. They were to provide anything that the omega needed. Usually the omega’s alpha tended to the more instinctual needs of an omega, whereas a mediator would provide for whatever else the omega required. 

Mycroft was an alpha, but he was unbound for whatever reason. Sherlock had just bound himself with John, but their bond was still weak. Sherlock’s possessiveness was causing him to see his own brother as a challenger, trying to claim John. It all seemed ludicrous. A mediator was a platonic third party set forth to intercede and reconcile an alpha and their omega. Something tickled in the pit of his stomach, and before John realized it, a choked burst of laughter erupted from out of him. Four pairs of eyes snapped in his direction and John immediately felt his face go warm with embarrassment. Coughing awkwardly, completely astonished by his own reaction, he cleared his throat to speak and right his mistake. 

“I… I would like that.” John admitted cautiously, putting great efforts in looking everywhere but at his husband. 

“ _John_. We don’t need a mediator. Tell me what it is you require and I will provide it for you.” Sherlock insisted considerately, turning to lean in close.

John edged away from the alpha, sparing a moment to eye him, befuddled. Sherlock truly perplexed John. Swallowing dryly, John forced himself to break their stare. Those deep blue eyes unsettled him. Glancing to a smug Mycroft, John started to gain the sense that a sibling rivalry existed between the two men.

“Yes, John. It’s understandable you would require my assistance. If you’re finished eating, we can speak now.” Mycroft offered, courteously. 

“Oh, yes. That sounds like a lovely idea. John, dear, do go and tell Mycroft what you require. You’re family now and we will most certainly provide all you desire.” Mrs. Holmes encouraged, sipping her tea, giving her approval. 

“John.” Sherlock persisted.

John didn’t meet the alpha’s immovable stare. Mycroft seemed like a nice enough chap, and he didn’t feel intimidated with the older man, not like he did with Sherlock. It was better just to talk to the mediator. John knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to Sherlock. How could he ask the alpha directly for what it was he needed, it felt…strange. He’d been taught to keep his distance from his alpha unless his alpha required his _services_. To follow his alpha’s lead and that he should never directly demand anything of him. That was what Mycroft was for. John was to tell Mycroft what it was he needed. Mycroft would offer whatever that might be to John. However, if it was something that directly concerned Sherlock, Mycroft would need to discuss the matter with his alpha, supporting his wishes. Then his alpha and Mycroft were to come to some agreement on such request. 

Paying no attention to his alpha’s genuine entreaty, John rose from his chair and mutely followed after Mycroft when he stood and left the room. The two had scarcely made it three steps down the hall before an unexpected crashing of dishes sliced through the silence. John halted in his steps, turned to glance back down the hall, the commotion deriving from the dining area. 

“ _Sherlock!_ What has gotten into you?” Came the disapproving grumble of Mr. Holmes. 

“Sherlock, come back dear!” Mrs. Holmes cried out, as a door in the distance thundered shut, and then everything went still in the home.

John’s heart pounded speedily against his chest, his breathing unsteady, body shuddering terrified. Sherlock… Did he cause Sherlock to…?

“Ignore it. He has a flare for the dramatic.” Mycroft drawled; a bored expression was his answer to John’s alarm.

“But—” John strangled out, voice an octave higher than was natural. 

“Come along.” Mycroft sighed and made his way further down the hall.

John bit the inside of his bottom lip, worrying at it and reluctantly followed after the older man. The home was a maze. He’d gotten lost several times that morning trying to find the dining hall. Fortunately he’d ran into one of the maids and asked for directions. John noticed that they went the opposite direction from where he’d come from. They climbed a lengthy set of staircases and entered an eerily vacant wing of the estate.

“Sherlock resides in the east wing of the estate, whereas I inhabited the west. Our parents dwell in the north. The south is for live-in staff. I can give you a tour after our meeting if you would like?” 

John absentmindedly nodded, staring in amazement; the home truly was aesthetically pleasing to look at. The home was of a Grecian style and had marble floors, artifacts from various time eras and countries were placed on the edges of the walls, showcasing their beauty.

John stared despondently at the artifacts, horrified to realize, much like them, he’d been bought and would now reside in this home. Forever to spend his days an omega bitch, being bred heat after heat, producing the Holmes’ kin. . John knew there were scarcely any young Holmes’ and they were dwindling down in numbers. Though this prominent family was known by many, they didn’t procreate as was normally done. They devoted their time educating themselves and gave up their personal lives for their work. So many intelligent minded Holmes’ worked in the various fields of government, and none had the desire to give up their careers to birth kin. 

That was why the Holmes’ chose John, an omega capable of birthing countless children. 

_A bitch confined in a puppy mill birthing countless pups — An omega confined in Sherrinford estate birthing countless pups._

John blinked his eyes quickly, focusing on controlling his breathing and voicelessly trailed after Mycroft into a room. Concentrating on the matter at hand, John took in his surroundings; there were dark leather chairs circling a cherry wood coffee table, further off in the room was a mahogany desk and auburn polished leather chairs. 

John watched as Mycroft rounded the desk, seating himself in his chair and motioned that John sit in one of the two chairs facing him from across the desk. Releasing a heavy breath, John ambled sluggishly towards the awaiting mediator and collapsed down in his seat, weighed down by the stress of everything. 

Silence bled through the room, John stared at Mycroft, just stared, unsure how he should go about saying what it was he needed to say.

“Why don’t you tell me about your first night being wed?” Mycroft suggested, sensing John’s dilemma. 

John frowned. This was not what he wanted to talk about. 

“I have a therapist already.” John graveled, knowing that Mycroft worked for the government and most likely already knew this. 

Mycroft smirked, leaned forward, folded his hands and rested them on the desk. 

“It might help telling me. I’m your mediator. If Sherlock has done something to make you uncomfortable or feel unsafe with him, I should know. I could assist in reconciling the two of you.”

John made a sour face at the very notion of reconciling with that alpha. 

“I want separate rooms.” John abruptly demanded and he watched closely as what little color was on the pale man’s face drained away. 

“That… I’m sorry, but that is not negotiable.”

John glared. He didn’t like that his mediator was an alpha, but at least he wasn’t _his_ alpha. As annoying as it was, this man was his one chance at getting some distance from his mate.

“Is it because of the scenting phase? I don’t see why it’s needed. I married him and let him place the bond bite, no matter how many showers I take, his scent will never leave me.” John snarled the last part, realizing this shortly after showering that morning.

Mycroft inhaled a deep breath, preparing to make his argument, but John cut him off the moment his lips parted in the starting of speech. 

“I was bought to be bred, was I not?” John started, raising a brow with question when Mycroft’s jaw line tensed.

“Scenting is not a necessary part of bonding, and I can’t conceive pups when I’m not in heat. As a result, there really is no reason why I must let _that_ …” John felt his anger rising as he spoke and stopped himself before cursing his husband, knowing that this was his alpha’s brother he was talking to. No matter the sibling rivalry that might be there, the two were family, and he knew how much alpha’s valued kin. 

“Go on, finish your sentence.” Mycroft said edgily, his features hardening instantly.

“…alpha, scent me.” John completed slowly, endeavoring to calm his breathing enough to say so little. 

“I see where you’re coming from.” Mycroft acknowledged, “Nevertheless, Sherlock is an alpha and he’s waited for you for a rather long time. If this had been when he was _younger_ , there would have been a possibility that I might have been able to persuade Sherlock on holding back. It is far easier to control a young alpha than it is a fully grown and matured one.”

“So… What you’re saying it that this is _my_ fault? I was _eighteen_ and he was a _twelve year old boy_.” John glowered, his words hostile and full of animosity. How could he have been expected to marry at that time?

“Regardless, I am sorry, but I cannot approve of such a request. Is there anything else that you require?”

“No.” John grumbled, lowering his gaze to glare at the oriental red carpet. 

“Now, John, there is a matter of which I must discuss with you.” Mycroft began and John curiously met the pale man’s stare.

“Your heat.” 

“What about it.” John’s eyes narrowed ominously and his reaction seemed to amuse the gentleman. 

“Your parents have informed me that they have never given you the proper education on how an alpha and omega claiming works.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” John snarled, feeling the sudden urge to leap across the desk and punch the smugly grinning mediator. 

“It is an important lesson that must be taught to all omegas, but you enlisted so young and when you came back, your parents were so distracted with tending to your injury and preparing for the wedding that they have left me in charge of prepping you.”

John began counting down from ten, but when he got to four and his rage only seemed to be intensifying, he started counting down from twenty. When he reached six, he felt he could speak somewhat calmly.

“Thank you, for your concern, but that is hardly necessary. I did take sex education in middle school and as you know, I am a doctor, so the lessons are unneeded.”

“Sex education is more about how the human anatomy works and responds, whereas being educated as a general surgeon gave you little to no education on the dynamics of heat cycles between an alpha and omega. The very least you learned was the psychology and anatomy of each, just slightly more in depth than middle school sex education.” Mycroft concluded, the twinkle in his eyes a clear sign he was enjoying John’s discomfort.

“I know enough.” John turned to stare at the wall to his side, realizing as much as he detested admitting it, that Mycroft was right. But his pride wouldn’t let him acknowledge such. 

Mycroft leaned back to open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a laptop and set it on the desk. The older man once again shifted through the drawer and retrieved four DVD’s in plastic cases and placed them on top of the laptop. 

John circumspectly lifted one DVD case at a time, reading the labeled titles. 

_Lesson 1: Alpha's Instinctual Response To Omega Bond Mate._  
_Lesson 2: Alpha’s Rut Induced by Omega’s Heat Cycle._  
_Lesson 3: Omega Heat Cycle Phases._  
_Lesson 4: Copulation of Alpha/Omega, Rut/Heat._

John read lesson’s 4 title several times and his stomach churned nauseatingly.

“Well now, the tour, yes?” Mycroft suggested, infuriating smirk still ever present as he rose from his chair.

John followed Mycroft in complete silence, holding the laptop and DVD’s with a lost expression across his face. He hardly heard what the man said, but he noted they’d finished their tour facing the familiar door leading to the bedroom he now shared with the alpha. 

Mycroft clasped a hold of John’s arm; breaking through the fog of John’s muddled mind. 

“I’ll leave you to your lessons then. Remember, if there is ever anything you need of me, just let me know.” Mycroft chuckled; amused that John was actually speechless. 

John dimly nodded and watched as the older alpha left him to stand in a complete daze. Slowly, John wandered into the empty room and moved to sit himself in the bed, laptop and DVD’s resting at his side. 

Lessons on mating, really? John knew how sex worked. He was a doctor for Christ’s sake. But… He’d never…with anyone, so… There were things books didn’t necessarily teach and John honestly didn’t really know much about alpha and omega rut/heat cycles, apart from alpha’s mounted an omega and that omegas were to be knotted to ensure impregnation. 

John shyly glanced around him, reaffirming to himself that he was truly alone. Sherlock was upset with him for choosing to go speak with his brother, rather than him. John highly doubted the alpha's reappearance anytime soon and he hated his curiosity, but he really was wondering about these lessons. 

Swallowing audibly, John flipped open the laptop, switched it on and slipped in the first DVD.

John was pleasantly surprised to find that it was an informative DVD. It gave scientifically accurate information from various medical experts, and through their explanations of factual information, scenes of an alpha demonstrating the topic of discussion were shown. 

John learned so much. He never knew an alpha’s main purpose once forming an attachment to their mate was to be driven to protect, nurture, and create security for them. John was amazed when real life bonded alpha’s spoke about how they’d first responded to their counterparts. How after first scenting their true mate, they’d been overwhelmed by their scent, some even experienced going into early rut. John blushed at the idea that an alpha could be so easily affected by their mate’s scent. However, these were mutual pairings, nothing forced upon them. John wondered what it would have been like to have met someone who truly felt tied to him. 

The first DVD ended after thirty minutes and John replaced it with the second. John found himself blushing hotly, as he watched this particular lesson. He learned many things, but the one that stuck out to him most was that an alpha’s rut could be induced by an omega’s heat. Some sensitive alphas could scent a heat just before the signs began to show and their rut would begin soon after scenting their omega. Rutting usually lasted for as long as an omega’s heat did, it helped the alpha recuperate faster so that they could assist their omega to endure the three day heat cycle. 

There had been a paid alpha and omega couple who’d been videotaped during the omega’s heat cycle, although nothing sordid had been shown. John watched as the alpha and omega stood within a well lit bedroom. The alpha paced restlessly from one side to another while the omega fidgeted where he sat in the bed. Every time the alpha tried to near him, the omega would growl and the alpha would step back and away, then he would pace the floor restlessly once more. 

Omegas knew when they were to begin their heat and if an alpha tried to claim them before they’d physically reached their peak, the omega would resist. Alphas could naturally force themselves on an omega even if they weren’t ready. John could see the love and trust between the couple. He was amazed by how the alpha resisted his instincts to mount and rut his omega, simply because the omega was not yet ready. John frowned bitterly, knowing more than likely being in a loveless bond with his alpha, he would not experience the same kindness as this omega.

Lesson 3 was a part of the series of the documentary he’d been watching. The same alpha and omega couple were shown once more. Though this time, the documentary spoke more in depth about the omega’s heat cycle. John knew this documentary well, he’d lived it twice, but it was helpful to hear the scientific outlook. When the DVD ended, he paused on the fourth and reread the title again. 

_Lesson 4: Copulation of Alpha/Omega, Rut/Heat._

John had an idea what this lesson would entail and with a moment’s pause, uncertain he was ready to learn if his suspicions were correct, he pressed the play button. Immediately, John knew this video was different. There were no interviewed experts, no commentary, just a video capturing an alpha prowling near his omega counterpart. 

John shifted back into the bed, resting against the wooden headboard. Computer placed on his lap, John raised his gaze and scanned the empty room, stared at the shut door of the room, then back to the computer screen. 

The omega looked completely different from the previous video. The peaches and cream complexion of the omega changed drastically, heat rising to the young man’s face, deepening in color as his body temperature rose. The omega let out a soft whimper, edging back onto the bed and lay his head on a plush pillow. Rolling over onto his side, the omega grabbed another pillow and hugged it close, attempting to calm his fever. 

The alpha counterpart watched the omega closely; scanning him for a sign his omega was ready. John remembered how the alpha tried to get close before and the omega snapped at him, now the alpha almost appeared to be sulking from a distance. 

Minutes passed and the alpha remained at a distance. The omega began to perspire, feeling the heat was too much to bear; the omega began to remove articles of clothing. First he removed his button up white shirt, followed closely after by dark denim jeans, socks, and hesitantly his blue boxers.

The alpha rumbled in approval and silently followed the omega’s actions, removing his clothing with less care than the omega had. Once the alpha was bare, John lowered his gaze to the alpha’s cock. Everyone knew an alpha’s cock was bigger than a beta’s and omega’s, but he never realized it would be _this_ big. It was enormous, the sheer thickness and length was daunting to behold and John became immediately concerned for the omega. Sure while in heat the omega’s body would force itself to take their alpha’s cock, but this… It seemed to be too much. 

The blood drained from John’s face at the reminder that in two months he’d have to withstand three days of breeding with his husband who most likely possessed a monstrous cock as this alpha on the screen did. It was a terrifying thought.

The alpha on the screen took several cautious steps towards the bed. Where John expected the omega to reject the alpha’s advances, he was stunned when the omega bayed feebly, pleadingly. The alpha was on the bed in a heartbeat, hurriedly crawling over on top of the omega, growling triumphantly when the omega tilted its head back and revealed the bond bite, marking him as his alpha’s mate. 

John glanced away from the screen, stared down at the empty spot on the mattress where his husband lay the night before. Biting his bottom lip, his face burning red when the omega keened wantonly, John looked back up at the screen and watched the alpha suck on the mark. 

“Please… I need it.” The omega beseeched of his alpha, bucking his hips up and connecting their hard lengths together. 

John palmed his damp forehead, surprised by his response. His pants suddenly felt two sizes too small, tightly encasing his erection. This shouldn’t be exciting him. He shouldn’t be this keyed up seeing an omega being dominated by an alpha, and he wasn’t. It was the care, consideration and loving actions of the couple that was really doing a number on him. He felt a pulse of pleasure run through him when the alpha rumbled out a cry of satisfaction and swooped down, claiming his mate’s lips in a fiery kiss. 

John had watched porn as a teenager, he’d seen how porn stars had sex—this wasn’t the same as that. This couple kissed, really kissed, their hands roamed over the other’s body with familiarity. When one arched, the other bent close, they were so in-sync.

John’s hips squirmed, the bulge in his jeans felt painfully restricted, but John kept watching. The alpha rocked his hips against the omega’s, compressing their cocks tightly together, and bringing them close to the edge. John could see the slick steadily pool around the omega’s ass, drench the sheets and soak the alpha’s knees. 

“Please.” The omega panted, pushing the alpha back enough to roll over onto his belly, raised his rear and reveal his gleaming ass.

The alpha growled lustfully, hands clutched to the damp globes of his ass, running over the smoothness of flushed skin. Spreading the omega’s cheeks apart to inspect how ready the omega really was, John inhaled stridently. He’d never seen what an omega’s entrance looked like when in heat, he’d felt his own, but didn’t have a mirror or the care to really inspect it as all he’d wanted to do during his heat was to jerk off and finger himself until his heat fizzed out. 

The anal hole was drizzling out a clear liquid, self lubrication. The rim of his hole was inflamed, and an angry red, but it was open, twitching, pulsing, and attempting to close itself around air. The alpha inserted one finger inside and the rim instantaneously contracted around it, the omega mewling pitifully, knowing it wasn’t enough.

“More. Love, I need more.” 

The alpha inhaled shakily, removed his finger, and the omega trembled with need. Grasping at the omega’s sides, the alpha shoved the omega’s ass back and down. 

“Bend low and bare down.” The alpha finally spoke, voice hoarse, thick with want. 

“Yes.” The omega moaned, burying his head in a pillow and moaning again when the alpha lowered on all fours, plastering his body over the omega’s form.

John choked on spit, realizing what the alpha was actually doing. He’d never seen this, actual mounting of an omega. The alpha’s large pulsing cock ground over the omega’s ass, a muscular arm wrapped around the omega’s lower clavicle and upper chest, holding him close, back hard-pressed to chest, and shoved them deeper against the bed. The alpha’s other hand moved low and guided his cock to the omega’s entrance. With one hard thrust the alpha was inside and the omega went wild, yowling pleadingly. 

From then on, the alpha seemed to lose himself to instinct, thrusting hard and fast. Pounding in the omega, rutting, it was so…so… Just so wild, feral, animalistic and John knew he should be disgusted, appalled that this omega liked it, wanted it, but... 

The omega’s trembling hands moved blindly behind him, one clenching to the left globe of the alpha’s ass, his other running through the alpha’s dark brunette hair, fisting a hold and whined for more. The bed shook with the alpha’s powerful thrusts and John’s breathing elevated. The alpha crowded over the omega, shoving him deep into the mattress, pressing his whole body weight against him and plowed through him.

The omega let out a piercing scream as he came hard and soon after the alpha was tensing over him, shoving one final rough thrust in; he slammed his swelling knot deep and passed the rim of the omega’s entrance.

“ _Mine!_ ” The alpha howled possessively, spurting his seed within his mate, breeding him. 

The omega moaned deliriously, a soft smile spread across his flushed sweaty face and the alpha answered him with tender kisses across the expanse of his neck and back. The video ended soon after the alpha’s knot receded and he embraced his omega, scenting him further. 

John slammed the laptop shut and stared blankly at the wall. He didn’t know what the hell to do or how he should feel after watching the lessons. A part of him was intrigued, but another part of him felt just as equally unsettled. Shaking his head, John retrieved the DVD’s and broke them into pieces. He threw the broken pieces in the bathroom trashcan and covered the evidence with toilet paper. He didn’t want to risk his alpha finding out what he’d been watching. John placed the laptop on the coffee table of the bedroom sitting area and then prepared himself for another shower. 

John felt ashamed after he jerked himself off; for having such a reaction to something that should have repulsed him, and for the fact that he knew his alpha would most likely scent his spunk in the shower the next time he used it.

  



	5. Chapter 5

Shortly after John finished his second shower that morning, there was a knock on his bedroom door. He hesitantly opened it and found an elderly man standing across from it. The man had introduced himself as the Holmes’ chauffeur and that Mycroft Holmes had informed him that John would need a ride to London for an appointment. 

John wasn’t sure how Mycroft found out he had an appointment to see his therapist, but he was grateful for the ride. He didn’t think there was a taxi company that would drive so far out to pick him up and take him to the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re awfully quiet today, John.” Ella Thompson observed, sitting across from John within her office.

John stared blankly at the woman. 

“I know you’ve gone through a lot of changes in such a small amount of time. It can be difficult to make so many adjustments.”

Ella couldn’t even begin to understand how John felt. She was a beta. 

“It’s okay to be angry. Let it out.” Ella encouraged sensing the animosity boiling in the man before her.

“You don’t know anything.” John spat hotly. “You don’t know what it’s like being an omega. They’ve taken my dignity away. They’ve sold me as if I was a slave, to an alpha that I’m just supposed to bend over and let fuck me for three days. How do they expect me to birth children with a complete stranger?” John wasn’t yelling, but he wasn’t talking in his normal resonance either. 

Ella nodded slowly, unaffected by John’s outburst. 

“Is he…Your husband, is he a nice man?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him much, but…he wasn’t unpleasant.” John frowned, reluctantly admitting the last. 

“That is a good sign. John, regardless that this was an unwanted union, you have bound yourself to this alpha. There is no changing that. Don’t you think it would be less stressful if you at least tried to get to know him?” Ella observed sympathetically.

John glared at the floor, knowing she was right. 

“You’re not the only one who was bound in this marriage. Can you at least acknowledge that your alpha might feel the same?” 

“He’s an alpha.”

“Yes, but he is your husband now.”

“I—” John was unsure what to say now that Ella forced him to recognize he might have been a little too cruel to the man. 

“Has he said anything to make you believe he is an unkind alpha?”

“No, but—”

“Has he forced himself on you?”

“No, but—”

“Has he shown aggression or tried to dominate you?”

“No…” John answered in a subdued manner, defeated, and Ella nodded her head with approval.

“Now, John, how have you behaved with your alpha?”

_Deplorably…_

John’s eyes remained fixed on the ground.

“I see what you mean.” John noted after a long pause, and Ella’s eyes softened with compassion. 

“John…” Ella began, waiting for John to raise his gaze and meet her own, when he did, she asserted, “Can you at least try and communicate with him. It might help you during your heat if you actually bonded with him beforehand.” 

John swallowed thickly and slowly tipped his head. 

“I’ll try.” 

“Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When John arrived back to the estate, the home was deadly silent. The chauffeur had mentioned that all of the Holmes’ left just before he’d gone to retrieve John earlier that morning. John had the place to himself. It was both a pleasant and miserable thought; pleasant because he wouldn’t feel pressured to act a certain way with the Holmes’ and miserable because it was a reminder of his purpose. This home was his dungeon. Sure, he was allowed to leave to the city to perform errands and go to meetings with his therapist, but he’d been bought to birth pups and that was his life’s purpose now.

There were still staff at the estate; John noticed a few here and there tending to the home. John welcomed their presence; it gave him the illusion of not being completely alone, even though that was how he felt. Since he had the freedom to wander the residence without bumping into one of the Holmes’ John took this opportunity to explore.

John vaguely remembered the tour Mycroft gave him as his thoughts had wandered off and he contemplated other stressing things, so this was more of a refresher tour. He started downstairs and realized just how many grand rooms there were; all decorated in different themes, for different types of events. John had a feeling Mrs. Holmes liked to throw parties and he could just imagine the long suffering pain he would need to endure attending them.

When John finished exploring downstairs he went up to the east wing. The north, south, and west wing carried no interest for him. He had no real reason to go to them, but for Mycroft’s office in the west, except he knew where that was already. Sherlock gave him permission to look through the east wing already, so John didn’t feel guilty when he went into each room. 

Most of the rooms were empty; a few were made into guest bedrooms. The rest were made into storage spaces. John curiously riffled through the storage rooms. They didn’t have anything of great interest, a few knickknacks, old books, gadgets, ancient science equipment, worn out journals with written evaluations on numerous amounts of experiments and so on. John didn’t know what it was his husband did for a living. He’d never cared to ask, but he’d mentioned the day before that he was working on a case. With all the science equipment and research journals, John wondered if he might work in forensics. 

John continued searching the rooms and soon made his way to the end of the hall. Recollecting that the room to the right was where the alpha’s office was, he opened the door and entered the room. 

The room was a mess of papers, journals and books scattered across a large table. A microscope lay in the mess of it all, along with several Petri dishes, and glass slides. Some of the Petri dishes looked to have some type of mold growing and others had unidentified substances. 

The walls of the room were lined up with bookshelves that were full to the brink; books were even stacked up on the top of the shelf. A large leather couch was placed on the far end of the room, near an enormous window that overlooked the magnificent gardens, and what appeared to be an extensive and intricate maze. 

John scanned the room one last time before leaving and heading downstairs, interested in exploring the yard. It was much bigger than he originally thought, there were so many flowers, and some he had never even seen or knew existed. John went into the maze, but he didn’t go too far for fear of losing himself in it, but still, a part of him wanted to go in further to find out if he had what it took to reach the end. 

“You’ll get lost.” A voice broke in and John jumped, startled, 

Whipping around, body tensed, John met bright sea green depths. 

“Only a few have ever made it from start to finish. A search party is usually sent to find those who have tried and failed.” Sherlock mumbled softly, lowering his head and stared down at his shoes. Large hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. 

John stared warily up at the lanky man. When had he arrived? How long had he been watching him? Why did he seem so shy around him? He was an alpha for God’s sake, why was he pretending to be so… so… _kind?_

“Just thought I should warn you before you got lost.” Sherlock raised his eyes once more, flashed a weak smile that appeared...painful, and then turned to leave the outer perimeter of the maze.

Ella’s words reached John’s ears in that moment and he knew she’d been right. He needed to at least _try_.

“Sher…” John’s voice broke on him, fear gripping his heart and his stomach churned with nerves. 

Sherlock paused and slowly turned to meet his panicked gaze. John took a half step towards the alpha, licked his suddenly dry lips and tried to speak again.

“Would you…join me? That is… If you know the way.” John stammered and watched carefully as the alpha blinked, taken aback. 

After a long moment in which the two stared at one another, Sherlock finally spoke. 

“I know the way.” The alpha admitted slowly, scanning John’s features with intrigue and curiosity. 

“Um, good, shall we go?” John took two steps back; giving the alpha enough room to move ahead of him, but Sherlock didn’t move.

“You should lead us where you think we should go. If you grow tired, I will guide us out.” Sherlock explained and took one step closer to John. 

Sherlock was still three feet away from him, but John grew nervous with how intensely the alpha stared at him and spun around. Without another word, John led the way. Sherlock followed after him, always remaining three steps behind him. The silence was killing John, though his focus was on trying to find his way out of the maze and part of him couldn’t tolerate the quiet.

“I… I went inside your office.” John admitted timidly, glancing behind him to find the alpha’s eyes were fixed on him and turned around to face the path before him once more. 

“Did you?” Sherlock replied coolly. “What did you think?”

“It was a mess.” John teased. 

“Mm, it works for me.” Sherlock mused. 

The silence started once more and as they turned left, John glanced over to Sherlock, still three feet behind him, seeming to give him the distance he wanted. He loved keeping their distance, but if he wanted to make an effort, he’d have to go outside of his comfort zone. 

“You… You can come closer, you know?” John whispered, partly hoping Sherlock hadn’t heard him.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and John stilled himself. 

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why?” Sherlock stressed.

“I’m going to try.” John spoke; bowing his head he raised a hand to run through his hair and inhaled sharply. 

“Last night… Last night you said…” Sherlock seemed to fall over his words by the shock of John’s complete change. 

“Last night… I was overly stressed by everything that had happened.”

“And now?”

“We’re married…mated. I don’t want to live my whole life carrying this anger.” John admitted truthfully and stared back up into those intense eyes. “You said you would try, so I’m saying the same.” 

Sherlock noticeably swallowed and inhaled an uneven breath before nodding his head and took three steps forwards until he stood to John’s side. 

“Okay.” Sherlock smiled, this time John believed the smile to be genuine and found he didn’t need to force the smile spreading across his own mouth. 

“How many tries did it take you to learn the maze?”

“One.”

“Liar.” John chuckled.

“Truly. I’m a genius, you know.” Sherlock said arrogantly and John laughed again, heartily. 

“It’s lovely.” Sherlock mused, his smile softening, eyes seeming all the more open. 

“What is?” John was at a loss.

“Your laugh. I always wanted to know what it sounded like.” 

John paled. How had he? He really did laugh and it hadn’t been forced out of anger or spiteful in the least. 

“Come on. Let’s see if I can find our way out.” 

Sherlock kept close to John on their way through the maze, but after several hours passed and John still hadn’t found their way out, he turned to the amused alpha.

“Okay, tell me this, have I gotten close to the end?”

“Actually, we’re closer to the beginning.” Sherlock snickered and John groaned.

“Seriously?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Okay. Lead the way.” John grinned back.

“Come along, John.” Sherlock cheerily called as he made a quick right and John trailed after him.

“Slow down.” John called as Sherlock broke into a jog.

“It’s more fun this way.” Sherlock answered turning left and then right and John was losing him.

The alpha’s long legs gave him more of an advantage and John had to walk speedily with his cane to keep up. On the third turn, John lost Sherlock.

“Sherlock!” John hollered, letting the other man know he’d gone too far ahead of him.

When John made to turn left a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around and John now faced a flushed Sherlock. John’s leg gave a painful throb and he clenched tightly onto his cane. 

“Sorry.” Sherlock apologized and pulled back. “This way.” 

Sherlock spun again and this time, thankfully, walked. John caught up and they strolled quietly side by side. The alpha wasn’t all that bad. He wasn’t dominating or overbearing in the least. He was calm, thoughtful and… What was John thinking? Surely he knew this behavior would not last. Sherlock was possessive. Still… Even when the alpha showed signs of possessiveness, he’d never tried to dominate him, never tried to make him do something he didn’t want to. 

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if you didn’t have to bond with me?” John found himself asking. 

“No.” Sherlock glanced over to him curiously.

John nodded solemnly.

“I would have always bound myself with someone. It’s the way of the world.”

“You shouldn’t hate your status.” Sherlock reprimanded, a sudden burst of liveliness taking root in him.

“I can’t help it. My kind… Our lives have been chosen for us.” John smiled sadly, not knowing why he was opening himself up _this_ much to the alpha. 

John mutedly took notice that they exited the maze and now stood in another maze, this one not made of tall bushes that seemed to reach for the sky, but of a colorful array of roses. The rose bushes were low enough so that they could see the path leading out and to the lush green grassed lands. In the center of the rose garden maze was a beautiful water fountain. 

Sherlock walked ahead of John and moved to stand before the fountain. When John stood nearby, the lanky alpha sat on the cemented edge of the fountain, hands folded over his chest, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. 

“You’re not a prisoner, John.” Sherlock’s eyes seemed to have changed colors in this particular lighting and were of a deep ocean blue. 

John sighed heavily, his legs tired from the exertions of their walk he moved to seat himself beside the alpha. 

“I’m not?”

“No.” 

“Why?” John’s voice was faint.

Sherlock faced him and John could feel his hard stare, but couldn’t meet it head-on. 

“Why, what?” Sherlock quizzed, he was unable to follow his thought process. 

“Why are you so… kind to me when all I’ve been is cruel?”

Sherlock said nothing for a long while and John was forced to raise his head and meet those fascinating blue depths. He found warmth in those eyes, acceptance, and something else John was unable to classify. 

“May I…” Sherlock began raising a hand out and it hovered near John’s neck, near his bond bite.

John stared at the pale hand anxiously and he cautiously tipped his head in acceptance. His eyes fluttered shut when smooth fingers glided over the bruised healing flesh. The pads of the alpha’s fingers seemed to lick a hot tingling path over the bite mark and John let out a shuddering breath.

“ _John_ , I have claimed you as my mate. I meant it when I said I would cherish you.” Sherlock’s words sounded close… Too close.

John’s eyes snapped open and he gasped sharply as now Sherlock was leaning in close, their faces inches from one another. 

“This is… We shouldn’t…” John panted heavily, unexpectedly finding it hard to breathe, all he could smell was the intoxicating scent of the alpha and it was turning his brain to mush. 

“We’re married.” Sherlock answered, edging closer, eyes half-lidded, lips parting, slowly moving in. 

When their lips were a hair’s breadth away from connecting, Sherlock stopped; he lingered there for long moment’s of time, waiting. John knew Sherlock was giving him the chance to move, to pull back, to shove him away, do _anything_ to stop this from happening, but John couldn’t. He was so enthralled by the alpha’s scent, it made everything spin. 

“ _Oh, John_.” 

John liked the way the alpha said his name. He said it like a prayer, a glorious prayer that had at last been answered. When John didn’t pull away, the hand on his neck slid up, cupped his cheek gently and tilted his head to the side and then…then… _oh, God!_ …then…an image of a possessive alpha mounting their omega mate and breeding them roughly flashed in his mind’s eye and panic seized John’s heart. 

John instinctively shoved the alpha away, forcefully, too hard, causing Sherlock to tip over and topple back into the fountain. Water splashed everywhere and whipped John in the face and his eyes snapped open to find a pair of heated icy blue staring him down.

“I’m sorry!” John choked out, part fear, part horror. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock simmered, slipping on his way out of the fountain and John rose to his feet, taking several steps back, preparing himself for his punishment that was sure to come.

“I— I didn’t mean to.” John strangled, struggling to find the right words to mend his massive blunder. 

Sherlock was soaked to the bone; his fitted clothes clung tightly to his body, a pool of water circling around him when he’d managed to exit the fountain. 

John waited… and waited, eyes clamped tight, but he never felt the sting of a malicious touch. 

“ _John_ ” Sherlock whispered gently and John’s eyes opened as if the alpha willed it so. 

He found the alpha standing motionless, eyes open and warm. 

“I won’t hurt you. Why don’t you believe me?” 

John remembered the alpha saying as much the night before, but it was hard to consider that the man had been speaking truth. 

“I’m sorry.” John pleaded again, a force of habit.

The alpha bowed his head, releasing a heavy breath and slowly raised his eyes to meet John’s own, as if coming to a decision. Scanning the area around them as if looking for something, Sherlock swallowed thickly before he made his way to stand before John. 

John immediately tensed. The soldier in him wanted to attack Sherlock before the man laid a violent hand on him, but the omega in him wanted to submit to take his punishment. Conflicted on what to do, John raised his hands and shielded his face, preparing for the blow, eyes slamming back shut, breath caught in his chest as he continued to wait. The alpha was a liar. He’d defied him, rejected him, and denied his alpha what he had wanted. He was to be punished for it. 

“John.” Sherlock called, and John trembled. 

“Do it already.” 

“John.”

John didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was consumed by terror.

“Open your eyes, John.” 

John reluctantly lowered his shaking hands and his eyes fluttered open. What he found astounded him. There, kneeling before him was Sherlock, gazing up at him with intent. 

“I don’t wish to dominate you.” Sherlock pronounced firmly, a hand reaching out and taking possession of John’s left before he’d had the chance to retract it. 

“I don’t wish to hurt you.” Sherlock declared, raising John’s hand to his mouth and pressed supple lips to the wedding ring that was there. 

John’s mouth parted, breathing ragged as he silently listened to the alpha. This was wrong. An alpha should never kneel before an omega. It was monstrously unacceptable and disrespectful of the omega to be letting such occur. Omegas were to submit, they were to fall on their knees before their alpha. _Never_ was an alpha to do this. 

Sherlock smiled tenderly up at John, seeming to read his thoughts and defying etiquette he tilted his head back and to the side, revealing his jugular. John let out a soft whimper, pained and confused as to why this alpha was doing this. Sherlock was willingly submitting to John and he couldn’t take it, his body trembled even more, and he found himself looking around them, worried someone might witness such a deplorable act. 

“Look at me.” 

John didn’t want to look; looking caused him to feel all the more conflicted. It made it all the more difficult to see Sherlock as the enemy when he was submitting. The omega inside of him was crying out, both touched and hurt that he’d brought his alpha to demean himself. 

His human side and omega side both felt this was wrong, and when Sherlock guided John’s left hand to wrap around his neck, giving up what little power he had left and allowing John to do whatever he wished, John broke completely. 

“No. _Nooo._ ” John keened, legs buckling under him and he fell to his knees, his omega took over wholly and his stinging eyes met the kind blue of his alpha. 

“No, more. Don’t ever do this again.” John’s omega whimpered piercingly and Sherlock didn’t stop, he lowered himself further so that John was still over him and pressed his nose at the underside of John’s chin, soothingly scenting him.

“I made vows that I will keep.” Sherlock murmured; nuzzling the omega’s neck and John wasn’t fighting him anymore. He didn’t have the heart to. 

As the alpha scented him, John’s clothes dampened and he didn’t seem to care. How could this be real? How could his alpha submit to him? It made no sense. Alphas were territorial, possessive, aggressive, domineering, never did they submit to an omega, _never an omega_. 

John wasn’t sure how long he’d let the alpha scent him, but the sky steadily darkened and in that time, John’s hands uncertainly moved to grasp to the damp shoulders of the alpha. 

“John… _My John_.” Sherlock hummed contentedly. 

Reluctantly, Sherlock pulled away from John, but he raised his head to stare up at him with a wide toothy grin. A large cold hand went to palm his face and John’s omega fought through his mild hesitation and leaned into the touch. 

“We should go inside. Dinner will be served soon.” Sherlock advised, removing his hand and rising to his feet. 

When the alpha offered a hand to help John up from the ground, he ignored the antagonism within demanding he reject the alpha’s kindness and took the offered assistance. 

The two finished the rose maze and headed back to the estate. They’d separated inside, Sherlock encouraging him to go to the dining area without him, and that Sherlock would first change before joining him. John could only nod his head, unable to find his words.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were already seated when he entered the dining area. They’d greeted him and Mrs. Holmes began talking nonstop. Mycroft entered several minutes after John and seated himself quietly, flashing a smug grin to John who ignored him. Sherlock entered after they’d gotten halfway through their meal and seated himself beside John.

John noticed the alpha wasn’t eating all that much. They’d skipped lunch trying to find their way out of the maze and John remembered that Sherlock ate little at breakfast; he knew that the alpha should eat more than he was now. John couldn’t refuse his omega’s nurturing side and wordlessly placed more food on the alpha’s plate. 

Sherlock stilled cutting his chicken to glance up at John questioningly. John blushed shyly, staring down at his own plate and mumbled, “Eat.” 

Sherlock said nothing, but did as he was told, smiling brightly. John felt the other Holmes’ eyes on them, but he didn’t give a damn. As he ate, he never realized he smiled just as brightly as Sherlock did. 

When they finished dinner, John and Sherlock said their goodnights to the others and silently made their way to the bedroom. Sherlock distracted himself with texting someone on his phone while John showered and changed. After John exited the bathroom, Sherlock went in and got ready for bed. 

By the time Sherlock had finished, John was already lying in the bed…in the middle. Sherlock slid under the sheets and after a moment’s pause, wrapped his arms around John’s middle and buried his head against the omega’s neck. John exhaled a shaky breath, trying to rid his nerves, but still trembled slightly in the alpha’s hold. 

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock mumbled against the skin of the omega’s bond bite, now warm hands splaying out over his stomach and rubbing against the cloth of his shirt, seeming to want to calm his nerves. 

“Mm.” John hummed his reply, unable to speak; worried his voice would shake and shut his eyes, trying to find sleep.

Sleep came sooner than the night before, but not too quickly. He’d spent long moments feeling the tenderness of his alpha’s caress before finally slipping into the darkness of sleep, but even in the darkness of sleep he felt the phantom-like kiss the alpha placed on his bond-bite and exhaled an edgy sigh.

  



	6. Chapter 6

_The sharp piercing slice of gunfire rang out and blood stained dry lands. Screams filled his ears, cries of terror, agony, and desperation. They shouted in horror, pleading for an end to their suffering. Voices called out his name, fraught, needing, so many voices._

_John!_

_ John! _

_**John!** _

“ _John!_ ” An authoritative voice demanding his attention blared.

John’s tear-stained eyes snapped open as a bloodcurdling scream ripped from out of him. Thrashing around, trying to remove the hands tightening their hold on his arms, John sobbed, terrified. 

“John! John! John!”

Tears fogged his vision, but John recognized that deep resonating voice through the stuttering sobs rippling out of him. His own trembling hands rose to palm his face as he released a distressed howl. Taking deep breaths didn’t seem to be working as he couldn’t control them.

“John!” The panicked call of his name startled John and his body quaked with trepidation.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry.” John reiterated through hiccupping sobs, his words meshing together as he cried harder. The image of dead soldiers flashing in his mind’s eye and he felt great regret; he’d tried and failed to save so many of those poor souls. 

“ _John_.” 

John whined and the alpha answered his sorrow with a pained whimper of his own. John felt lean arms wrap him in a cocoon of warmth. The scent of his alpha overwhelmed his senses. John didn’t realize it until now, but his hands were wound around the alpha’s narrow waist and had drawn him completely against his shuddering form.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” 

“Mm.” John moaned feebly, burying his face into the alpha’s chest, and shoved his nose harshly there. He fought to keep the cries within and his shoulders shook with his effort. 

Time passed and the alpha remained deadly still and the breathless cries John made were all the more deafening. One of Sherlock’s hands rubbed his lower back and his other carded long slender fingers through feather-light blond hair. It was consoling and over time John was able to comprehend he’d had another nightmare. It was embarrassing to know that he’d lost control and the alpha had now seen him at his weakest. It was just another stab to his pride. Another reminder why everyone always said an omega was weak. 

Sherlock tried to pull away enough to look at him, but John drew him flush against his body. He couldn’t pull away. John didn’t want to. He couldn’t stand for Sherlock to look at him when he felt like this. He was vulnerable, open, and he didn’t want to answer the questions that would soon follow; questions about a past he wanted to remain in the past. 

“John.” Sherlock began and John fastened the lean man’s waist securely in his arms, painfully so. He could hear the sharp inhale of breath the alpha made, but didn’t lighten his punishing hold. 

“Shut up.” John ordered. Screw the fact he was an omega and should be listening to his alpha. He didn’t want to talk about it, and the alpha wouldn’t make him.

“John…” Sherlock wheezed, a moan cutting itself off when John practically winded him of air supply, bringing him even closer, the closest _humanly_ possible. 

Sherlock’s breathing was frayed, the alpha’s body tensing against him when John shifted to nuzzle Sherlock’s chest further. John wasn’t sure why, but then he felt it… A pulsing, _thick — fucking enormous_ hardness compressed against his hip. 

_Oh._

John froze. His breath caught in his chest as he listened carefully in on Sherlock’s harsh pants. He should pull away, but then…

 _Jesus…_

Taking in another inhale of breath was a disastrous idea, as he’d just taken a heavy inhale of alpha pheromones, copiously laced with arousal. 

“Fuck.” John exhaled unevenly, his body moving on its own, hips thrusting against Sherlock’s leg situated between his own and grinding the alpha’s straining cock against his hip. 

A wrecked whine broke from Sherlock’s unexpectedly quivering form and John… knowing he’d completely gone nutters, thrust his hips once more. John’s own arousal came to life as he continued to scent his alpha and rub against him.

 _God, help me!_

John didn’t want to stop. 

“ _Oh!_ ” Sherlock released a surprised gasp when John rolled them over, pinning the alpha to the bed and hurriedly straddled his thighs. 

“Don’t look at me.” John growled, hardly meeting pale gray eyes before he tucked his head against the crook of the alpha’s neck and shifted his ass to press alongside the monstrous swelling under him. 

“Oh, John.” Sherlock praised when John grinded his ass against his cock. 

John moaned thickly, mouth opening and tongue diving out to taste the pale flesh before him. Large hands shot out and clamped a hold of John’s thighs, fingers digging deep, and a wavering groan rumbled out of the alpha. 

John stilled his movement for one brief moment, his mind was fogging over with lust, but still a part of him was begging his omega instincts to stop, to not go further, that this was _wrong_. This moment of pleasure wasn’t worth it in the long run, he’d have to face the consequences later, that the alpha would seek more than the omega was ready to give. Mounting, penetration, knotting would undoubtedly follow… This couldn’t happen. _No._

“Don’t stop, please, _don’t stop_.” Sherlock’s sharp whimper broke the silence, the alpha raising his hips up creating the lost friction once more. 

John moaned, body tensing and shuddering all at the same time. 

“No.” John groaned painfully, hands pressing against the taller man’s hips, stopping his movements. Breathing unsteady, John gritted out his next words with slight dissatisfaction, “This is wrong.”

John hurriedly rolled off of the alpha and gave the man his back. Focusing on his breathing, John tried not to enjoy the scent of arousal still filling the room. 

“It’s not wrong.” Sherlock protested, rolling over to lay behind the omega, and pressed a hand to John’s hip. “We’re married.”

“Being married doesn’t mean that this is right. You’re an alpha.”

“What’s the problem with that? I told you, I won’t hurt you. I thought… I thought you understood.” 

John couldn’t respond. He didn’t know how to. John said he would try, and he was. However, this was too much. Maybe during his heat it would be different. His body would want to be dominated, but John at this very moment couldn’t justify those actions. 

Omegas were bitches to alphas. The alpha’s scent made John’s body react so because his omega desired to be filled and dominated; it was a shame that he’d endured countless betas ridiculing him for. Betas never felt the need to bend over and take an alpha’s knot, that was an omegas job. Or so that was what he’d been told. The fact an alpha could only knot an omega was a sign to the betas that harassed him, omegas were bitches. Sure it was when he was younger, but it had stuck with him, even now it made John feel weak and filthy. 

“Go to sleep.” John groused, curling in on himself and forcing his eyes shut, trying not to think about his nightmare. If he could just sleep, then he could pretend this never happened in the morning. 

“John.” Sherlock whispered, but John ignored him. 

Exhaling a shaky breath Sherlock mutely slipped out of the bed and shut the bathroom door behind him. John knew what Sherlock was doing in the bathroom and a part of him felt guilty, but another part of him was relieved. Relieved that Sherlock was handling it himself and not seeking his assistance, because… The bulge John felt under those striped trousers was daunting to think about. It had been so… _profound_. John didn’t have the courage to do more than what had already transpired. 

Sherlock didn’t return for a long while and John’s arousal dwindled down to nothing in that time, the stress weighing heavily on his shoulders and eliminating him of any excitement. 

When Sherlock slipped back into the bed, John scented sweat and satisfaction on the alpha. He exhaled a heavy sigh when the alpha wrapped his arms around him and pressed up against him and found there was no unwanted pressure. 

“I’m sorry.” John halfheartedly apologized.

Sherlock hummed weakly, seeming put out and John bit the inside of his cheek with nerves. The alpha ignored his unease and nuzzled his neck affectionately, seemingly amorous post release. John bore it until his eyes fell shut and he drifted back to sleep in the warm arms of his alpha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Sherlock was once again out of the bed before John woke up. Releasing a stressful puff of air, John prepared himself for the day and after, made his way to the dining hall. When he arrived he was surprised to find everyone was already seated at the table.

Sherlock hadn’t yet noticed him, but that could be because he was glaring murderously at Mycroft. Mycroft smirked amusedly at the lanky man, raising his tea cup as if to salute Sherlock before prissily sipping it. Sherlock’s lips twitched and a threatening growl rumbled out of him. 

“Sherlock! Manners, dear.” Mrs. Holmes scolded. 

“Sorry, mum.” Sherlock snarled; breaking eye contact with Mycroft and only after did his sights land on John, who stood hesitantly at the entry. 

“John.” Sherlock greeted breathlessly, a timid smile tugged at the ends of his lips.

John released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and made his way over to the table. Seating himself in the chair beside Sherlock’s, John felt heat rise to his face. He was thankful Sherlock wasn’t going to hold the events of last night against him, still, it was embarrassing knowing that though they said nothing about it, it still happened. 

Mrs. Holmes as usually chattered on and on about an array of nonsense whereas the other three Holmes’ quietly ate their breakfast with a bored expression on their faces. John had to stuff a large bite of toast in his mouth to stop himself from laughing at the scene before him. 

When a hand landed on his upper thigh and long fingers splayed out comfortably, John sat up straight in his chair and whipped his head around to face Sherlock. The alpha met his stare nonchalantly, forked a strawberry and took a bite of it. 

This wasn’t right. Sherlock didn’t have the right to touch him like this, to hell with the fact they were married. They weren’t committed to each other by choice. John’s jaw flexed, wanting to snap, slap the hand off his thigh and condemn Sherlock for even trying, but that would cause a scene. 

John shakily set his toast down, inhaled and exhaled measured breaths and discreetly lowered a hand to grasp a vicious hold on Sherlock’s. He tried to pry the alpha’s hand off his thigh, but Sherlock gripped tightly to him. John watched as Sherlock’s features tensed as if annoyed John was trying to remove his hand, as if Sherlock _owned_ John’s leg — He actually did in a sense, since he’d bought John, but still, that was not the point.

“Knock it off.” John whispered tensely.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to eat his fruit while their hands under the table battled. 

John pinched the skin of Sherlock’s knuckles but Sherlock didn’t relent. John scratched at the pale flesh, and yet again, Sherlock’s hand remained. When John attempted to peel off three fingers and twisted the alpha’s hand, he effectively removed Sherlock’s hand from his thigh. Except, then Sherlock’s hand became like an octopus, fingers threaded between his own and leached themselves tightly through. 

John’s eyes widened with disbelief. 

_What the hell was Sherlock doing!_

John stared at their interlaced hands and when he tried to slip his hand out, Sherlock tightened his hold. There was no possible way to pinch, scratch, or even attempt to snap the alpha’s fingers in this hold. Regardless, John yanked and tugged, twisting his own wrist trying to free himself, but it was futile.

“Is something the matter?” Mycroft’s voice rang through the momentary silence that was due to Mrs. Holmes sipping her tea. 

John’s and Sherlock’s heads snapped up and over to the smugly grinning gentleman before them. John stilled his struggle and allowed their connected hands to rest on his lap. 

“Nothing.” John choked out, face reddening further as Sherlock’s fingers stroked the back of his hand and John squeezed the alpha’s hand, wordlessly pleading he stop distracting him.

“Are you sure? You look rather flushed.” Mycroft observed.

“Yes, John. You do look rather flushed.” Sherlock repeated Mycroft’s observation, a sly grin on his face, goading the omega.

“You…” John began, like a fish out of water, he felt like he was losing his bearings. 

“Oh, dear, I hope you aren’t coming down with something. Maybe we should call the doctor over.” Mrs. Holmes suggested with concern.

John’s mouth opened in the starting of speech, but no words came out. Staring back at Sherlock pleadingly, he found the alpha looking rather pleased with himself. 

“No, mother.” Sherlock disagreed, leaning in close, far too close to be decent and brushed his nose against John’s, marking him further with his scent before pulling away and smiling lovingly at Mrs. Holmes.

“I believe my omega’s smitten.” 

John choked on spit and Mrs. Holmes giggled like a school girl.

“ _Oh, my!_ ” 

“Nnn—” John whined, trying to scream the word ‘No!’ over and over again, because he wasn’t!

A sudden trill of a phone went off and Sherlock hurriedly fished out his mobile, read something on the screen and the smile immediately dissipated. John curiously watched as Sherlock hurriedly texted something and then shoved the phone in his pocket. 

Turning to meet John’s stare, Sherlock gave an apologetic look and John stared on perplexed. 

“Is something the matter?” Mr. Holmes asked seeming to notice Sherlock’s change. 

“Yes. No. I mean, I need to leave for a while for a case. I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock said the last as his eyes softened. 

John felt Sherlock’s grip loosen on his hand and blankly watched as the alpha hurriedly rose from his seat and left the room. The table went quiet once more and John stared over at his husband’s empty seat. 

“What does Sherlock do?” John found himself asking the table of Homles’ several minutes later, his curiosity eating at him.

“He consults with The New Scotland Yard in solving cases.” Mr. Holmes elucidated. 

“He calls himself a consulting detective. He made it up.” Mycroft huffed the last part. 

John mutely nodded his head and forked at his sausage, his interest growing all the more at hearing this. 

John spent the majority of his day wandering around the home with no real purpose. Sure in two months time he would be preoccupied with his heat and after that, tending to his first litter, but for the meantime there really wasn’t much to do. This was supposed to be his honeymoon, but John never really wanted one and as the Holmes’ believed going out and about without first being claimed was a risk, John was encouraged to remain at the estate. Sure he could leave, but not for very long, and as John had learned yesterday, his chauffeur, Bill, had been accompanied by a well built alpha, Shaun. John hadn’t been pleased to discover that this alpha followed him as if he were his shadow. When Bill pulled up to the building of Ella’s office, he’d stayed in the car and Shaun followed John all the way inside Ella’s office and he’d stood just outside of the door waiting for him. Apparently, Shaun was his bodyguard, though John soon realized that Shaun was bound to a mate already and wouldn’t be drawn to John’s scent. It was a well known truth that omegas smelled sweet and intoxicating to alphas, which could have caused John a great deal of trouble in the army if not for his suppressants. Although, John was not pleased that Shaun would accompany him everywhere he went outside of the estate, Shaun wasn’t an unpleasant man. Both Bill and Shaun were rather friendly and John felt that under different circumstances, he might have liked to befriend them. But as it were now, they were just another reminder of his constant watch because of the Holmes’.

John fiddled around in Sherlock’s office for several hours, looking through the glass slides he’d set up and read through several stacks of journals, filled with countless experiments. Most were hard to follow as Sherlock wrote one word observations or thoughts that must make sense in the man’s mind, but not to any outside party. There were words that had been scratched out and replaced with something completely different, straying from one thought to another, really, only a mad man would understand. 

John felt a headache grow while he strived to follow the eccentric man’s thought process, giving up completely John tossed the journal he’d currently been reading back onto the table and stood. Needing some fresh air, John left to wander another part of the massive yard out back. 

He soon spotted far off in the distance a wooden farmhouse. John wandered over to the building, inquisitive as to what it housed, and when he entered he found it was a 12 stall horses stable. In each stall was a magnificent horse. John didn’t know much about horses, but he loved them. His great uncle Phil had two horses out in the country and when he was a child, he would visit him for the summer. John helped feed them and brush out their coat. He’d been too young to ride one at the time, but Phil promised to take him when he got older. Only, Phil passed away before that could happen. 

There were so many different breeds of horses. Though John couldn’t tell which breeds were what, he noticed the physical differences. The one that caught John’s eye was an elegantly tall horse. The horse’s jet black hair glistened in the light, and the way the horse stood, John knew it was a show horse. 

The horse leaned close to the bars of the stable and John desperately wanted to touch the beauty. Staring up into the horse’s honey brown eyes, John lifted a hand out slowly, allowing the horse to take notice of his presence and his intention, before he laid his hand with all the gentleness on the horse’s side.

The horse made a soft noise, its head turning to take him in all the more and it shifted closer. Taking this as a good sign, John ran his hand down the length of the horse’s side and chuckled softly when the horse twisted around and now his nose was pressing into John’s hand, sniffing raucously. 

“Are you hungry?” John asked fondly, noticing a bucket of grain and oats hanging outside of the door and scooped up a handful before allowing the horse to nibble at it from his hand. He made sure to keep his fingers straight, recalling his uncle’s warning that a horse could very well bite a person’s finger off during a feeding. 

John gave another handful and after, the horse happily allowed him to pet his head and neck, leaning down to allow him better access. 

“You’re a beauty. I wish I knew what to call you.” John mused; laughing happily when the horse’s nose pressed passed the bars to snuffle his head of hair. 

“Axel. He’s an American Saddlebred horse, and mum’s favorite.” Sherlock broke through the stillness. John froze for one moment in time. How long had the alpha been watching him? John met the pale gray eyes of his alpha. Sherlock’s eyes brightened as he approached.

“He’s our best race horse.” Sherlock admired, stopping to stand beside John, a fond smile in place. 

John directed his sights once more to the horse and continued to pet the beauty. 

“Are you still mad about this morning?”

“Now that you mention it… Yes.” John grumbled irritably, cursing himself because his face heated with embarrassment. 

Sherlock chuckled, and stepped closer to John. Half a foot away, he tipped his head low so that his nose was mere inches from John’s marked scent gland and inhaled noisily. 

“You smell divine.” 

“Stop that.” John hissed hotly, ducking his head, taking a step back and away from the strange alpha. Trying was the worst thing he could have done. Telling his alpha that he would give their marriage a chance seemed to break any of the barriers that had been set into place after their first night as a wedded couple. 

“What?” Sherlock seemed genuinely confused.

“Stop saying weird stuff.”

“Like what?” Sherlock quizzed.

“Just…” John stressed, stilling his words, he bit his tongue and took deep breaths. “Forget it.”

“John?” Sherlock attempted to get at the real cause of John’s frustration.

John shook his head, his tongue stinging from his brutal abuse, his teeth cutting through flesh and the metallic flavor of blood rushed his senses. 

“John?” Sherlock asked for a second time when John spun on his heel and walked off.

John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on his departing form and when the alpha jogged up to him, he wasn’t surprised. The two walked side by side and as they did so, John lost himself to his thoughts.

Why was he trying so hard? What did he get out of this? Nothing. John was not ready to conceive — There was no reason for Sherlock to be so… tentative. 

“John.” 

_John was an omega. His only purpose in life is to birth Sherlock’s pups. Nothing more._

“John.” 

John said he would try — try to make this arrangement bearable, so that when he went into heat it would be less traumatic, but this... 

“ _Jaaawwwn._ ”

John came to a sudden halt and snapped his harsh gaze to the open eyes before him.

“What are you playing at?” John snarled, rage bubbling to the surface. 

“What? What did I do?” Sherlock was thrown off by the annoyance creasing John’s features. 

“First, you tell me I have a lovely laugh.”

“You do.”

“Then you held my hand at breakfast.”

“I did.”

“After, you say my scent is divine.” 

“It is.” Sherlock inhaled deeply as if to prove his point and smiled yet again.

“And you are always smiling around me… It’s creepy.”

Sherlock snickered.

“This is not funny!”

“I know. _I know_... I’ll stop.” Sherlock bit his bottom lip, his laughter breaking off into harsh breaths as he attempted to stifle back his amusement.

John glowered at the alpha before him, his rage steadily rising. 

“You think I’m funny, is that it?” John demanded furiously.

Sherlock’s mirthfulness vanished then, his smile replaced by concern. 

“No, John. That’s not it.”

“What then? You think because I said I would try, you can play around with my emotions? See what kind of reaction you can get out of me? I’m a human being! I’m not to be toyed with!” John’s eyes were stinging now, hateful, dreaded sentiments of the past reiterating themselves in his mind, a painful reminder of why he was to be shamed. 

_“You’re an omega, a bitch bred into this world to satisfy an alpha’s rut.”_

_“Alphas are cruel to your kind because you’re weak.”_

_“Omegas take an alpha’s knot because that is what you are made for.”_

_“You were born a sex slave.”_

_“Omegas have no purpose in life but to bend over for their alpha and birth their pups.”_

_“Omegas are pathetic. That’s why your kind takes the brute force of an alpha’s cock. They use you to birth kin and love betas because we’re respected, stronger than omegas and equal to alphas.”_

_“If I were you, I’d have killed myself already. It’s pathetic you think you have the same rights as us. You’re a lowly excuse for a human being. You’re just a baby making machine. That’s all you will ever be in the eyes of your alpha.”_

“ _John!_ ” Sherlock shouted, hands snapping out and gripping to his arms as John felt himself sway. 

“Don’t touch me!” John growled, and slapped away the alpha’s hands, staggering back in his rush to create distance.

“It’s just a migraine.” John voiced unsteadily, his hand vacillating when he palmed his forehead and tried to calm the raging thoughts.

It didn’t mean anything. It was in the past. Bad memories of hateful words followed closely by agonizing violent fists. 

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was hard, resolute, he wasn’t going to let John’s lie slide, but John raised his eyes and met Sherlock’s. 

John’s eyes stung even more so, gleaming and the alpha’s features blurred together. Lowering his head, John bit his bottom lip, nodded a silent thank you when the alpha said nothing more. John left Sherlock to stand alone while he made his way back to the estate. 

John was grateful for one thing, his alpha knew when to shut up and give him space. 

John entered the bedroom and headed straight for the bathroom, drew himself a scalding hot bath, removed his clothes and sank into the seemingly boiling water. His skin protested, reddening, but John welcomed the burn; it was a distraction from all the overwhelming developments of the day. 

Bowing his forehead against his bent knees, John exhaled a heavy breath. Trying, it was far more difficult than John expected it would be. Years of torment, years of being taught one thing and just expecting it all to change and get better in a matter of a few days was ridiculous to even fathom. Two months didn’t seem long enough to ensure he developed a bond with his alpha. As it were, a year wouldn’t seem to do it either. 

There was always running. John liked the thought of running away. Packing his things and just leaving, going far away. It didn’t matter where he went as long as it was far away from his alpha, but then there was his family. He couldn’t run. John must endure everything to protect his family. He had to remain.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice broke passed the wooden door separating the bedroom from the bathroom.

John stared up at the door warily, contemplating the alpha’s reappearance. 

“Hmm?” John hummed weakly. 

“I… I brought you some tea. I thought it might help.” 

John turned away from the door and stared at the pure white tiled wall. He could refuse Sherlock’s attempt as soothing the tension. He could ask Sherlock to leave it in the living area of the bedroom. Or he could just simply ignore him, but that seemed harsh. 

“Bring it in.” John requested, surprising himself, but as he was enjoying his bath and he didn’t want the tea to cool down, this seemed like the best option. It wasn’t like Sherlock could see much, the bath salts had turned the water a dark murky blue, the side of his upper body and his knees were the only things visible, but as he was crouched close, nothing was open to viewing.

“ _What!_ ” Sherlock squawked and John’s head whipped in the direction of the door, brows raised and furrowed at the same time.

_Did Sherlock actually… squawk?_

“W— What?” Sherlock asked again, his voice several octaves lower, deeper, as if he was straining to speak in his normal resonance, but it was still off. 

“Come in.” John commanded. 

Silence was his answer and for long moments in time nothing happened, then the knob turned and John watched bemused when Sherlock entered. One hand held a tea cup while Sherlock’s other palmed his eyes. 

“You’ll spill it if you don’t remove your hand from your eyes.” John observed kindly, letting Sherlock know he wasn’t angry anymore, but not in so many words. 

Sherlock’s hand lowered from his eyes, but the alpha’s gaze was fixed on the wall at his side. As he neared the bathtub, John noticed Sherlock breathing heavily from his mouth as if not willing to scent the omega. John shook off the thought and leaned over to retrieve the outstretched tea cup.

The moment John took hold of it Sherlock was rushing for the door.

“Wait.” John called.

The alpha halted in his steps, back facing him, John observed the tall man with a quizzical nature.

“You’re rather obedient.” John examined, contemplating just how compliant Sherlock really was.

Sherlock said nothing, but John noticed when the alpha’s shoulders sagged and wondered why.

“If I asked you to kneel before me again... would you?” John wouldn’t, the very sight had disturbed him, but he had to wonder if Sherlock’s submission the other night was for show or a genuine promise to be so in their relationship when John needed it the most.

“I would do _anything_ you asked of me.” Sherlock’s voice was raw, wrecked as he breathlessly spoke his words and John’s chest seized. 

“If I asked you to kneel before me in front of your family, strangers… would you?” John’s lips pursed, already knowing the answer. The alpha was a liar. 

“ _Yes._ ” Sherlock whispered softly.

John choked on his tea as he attempted to drink it. 

“You’re an alpha.” John protested, utterly astonished and baffled.

“I don’t care!” Sherlock shouted angrily and John tensed, never had Sherlock yelled at him, not like this. The alpha’s body shook as he continued speaking, words wavering from out of him.

“I don’t care about status, what’s expected, none of it matters to me. Just… The only thing that matters to me is… _you_.” 

John couldn’t speak. Words were lost to him. How… Why… _How_ … _Why_ …

“I’m obedient to you… Only you.” Sherlock added and John’s eyes widened. 

_What… What… What… What!_

“You…” John shut his mouth as nothing else could come from it, nothing else that would make much sense, anyways. 

Sherlock let out a soft laugh, but it sounded so artificial that John was left wondering why he even tried clearing the tension. 

“I’ll let you finish your bath in peace.” Sherlock mumbled, head bowed, shoulders sagging further, seeming to give up. 

John watched mutely as Sherlock exited the bathroom. John’s tea grew cold as he sat there dumbfounded, holding his tea while his toes became prune-like. 

When John finally managed to get out of the bath, he changed and took his unused tea to the kitchen where he found the kitchen staff preparing their meal. During lunch and dinner, John ate his meals in silence, never addressing the table and certainly never looking at his husband. 

During the hours between lunch and dinner, John spent his time in the Holmes’ library downstairs reading books, but never truly contemplating their subject matter as Sherlock’s words kept ringing in his mind, effectively drowning out all the other voices of his past. It contradicted every one of them. This was what unsettled John the most.

After preparing for bed, John slipped under the covers of the bed and laid himself in the middle. He listened as Sherlock entered the room later on that night and went to shower. When Sherlock exited the bathroom, he set his dirty clothes in the hamper within the closet before slipping under the sheets to join him.

John shut his eyes and focused on breathing in calm breaths as his alpha wrapped him up in his arms and nuzzled his bond bite. His warm hands rubbed over the cloth of his shirt, tenderly loving at the flesh beneath it as he’d done each night, and as John dozed off, he felt the familiar press of soft lips to his bond mark. 

“I won’t stop proving myself to you.” Sherlock’s resonating voice softly followed John in the darkness of sleep. 

John dreamt all night, soothing dreams of a man with enticing blue eyes that were ever changing and a smile that was ever contestant, and when he moaned out the man’s name in the stillness of the room, he was none the wiser, but the alpha lying awake next to him… was.

  



	7. Chapter 7

One month and two weeks had passed, and in that time John became all the more conflicted. Each day that came and went, was another day in which he’d spent taken aback by Sherlock’s startling kindness. Every morning John woke alone, met Sherlock for breakfast, and then the alpha would give him his space for several hours. What Sherlock did during that time was beyond him, but John suspected he was working on cases as he’d head in the direction of his office. Regardless, John spent most of his time reading in the library, wandering the outer grounds of the estate, visiting Axel and the other horses, walking around the gardens and the outskirts of the forest nearby. Sometimes, John would go to the greenhouse, taking a book from the library with him so he could read there for a change of scenery.

Near noon, Sherlock would find John wherever he’d wandered off to and keep him company for the rest of the day. John tried to ignore the alpha, but it was rather difficult as for some reason Sherlock would do something that irked him in one way or another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“John.”

John pursed his lips, shifting his hips where he sat in his chair inside a wooden gazebo where vines with red and white flowers coiled about the building, giving them the much wanted shade, and tried to read his mystery novel. 

“John.”

Inhaling deeply, John turned the page and ignored the exasperating voice. 

“ _Jaaawwwn!_ ”

Biting his tongue, eyes hardening, focused, John would not give in.

“ _Love_.” He cooed sweetly against John’s sensitive left ear, smile thickly laced in his voice.

John slammed his book shut and glared at the alpha seated next to him.

“What?” John groused.

“Play with me.” Sherlock pouted sullenly. 

The edges of John’s lips twitched a mere fraction of a millimeter before he forced it into a firm scowl.

“No.”

“ _Jawn!_ ” Sherlock whined priggishly; his nose stuck up snobbishly, “As your mate I deserve some attention.”

John’s lips twitched once more and he bowed his head to hide the faint smile. Standing to his feet, John tossed the book back onto his seat, shoved his hands in his jean pockets and met Sherlock’s hopeful stare with a glare.

“That book was utter rubbish. Entertain me, Sherlock.” John ordered and felt butterflies materialize in the pit of his stomach when sea green eyes brightened.

“Let’s go horseback riding.”

“I don’t know how to ride.” John frowned, loving the idea, but seeing the impossibility of it. 

“I’ll teach you!” Sherlock offered not detoured in the least.

John stared at the alpha in fascination. Sherlock surprised him a lot, but that he would dedicate the time to show him something he’d always secretly wanted to do… It was all so—

“Come, John.” Sherlock sang out happily, bounding the steps of the gazebo and heading for the horse stables.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock wordlessly retrieved Axel from his stable. John watched somewhat enthused as Sherlock moved around and saddled the horse. When Sherlock finished strapping the last fastening, he took hold of Axel’s leather reins and guided the horse outside. John followed Sherlock until they stood in a large opening separating the estate from the farmhouse. Sherlock met John’s somewhat apprehensive gaze with one full of excitement and comfort.

“I’ve been riding since I was ten. I know what I’m doing John. Don’t be frightened.” Sherlock reassured. 

“I’m not frightened.” John snapped, and didn’t need Sherlock to throw him _that_ look; he knew he was a horrible liar. 

“Come to the left, it’s easier for beginners to mount this way.” Sherlock advised with an outstretched hand, beckoning John over. 

When John stood less than a foot away from Sherlock, the alpha curved around him, leaning in close to the grab a hold of the left stirrup. 

“Put your left foot through the stirrup.” Sherlock informed, and John raised his foot high enough to reach it, but was quickly losing his balance as Axel was a tall horse. 

When John went to grab the back of the saddle to keep his balance, Sherlock made a noise of disapproval. 

“Not the back, you might break the tree of the saddle. Grab the reins and the pommel; use them to lift yourself up.” Sherlock recommended.

John assumed the pommel was the front of the saddle as Sherlock patted it once before offering up the reins to him. John securely placed his foot in the stirrup, his left hand gripping Sherlock’s and the reins, while his other tightened around the pommel. While lifting himself over the saddle, John felt Sherlock’s hand palm the back of his leg and guide him so that he was now comfortably seated over the horse. 

Sherlock’s hand knotted with the reins and John’s hand loosened and he pulled away. John smiled triumphantly, his right hand reaffirming that his helmet was securely in place.

“Good, not many can mount a horse their first try.” Sherlock admired, but John felt as if it were a condescending observation. Sherlock had assisted him the whole way and he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do so without his help. 

“Hold onto the reins… Not too tightly, but don’t let it go at any point.” Sherlock warned, voice changing, and no longer was it light and playful. It was stern and filled with concern, almost as if he worried for John’s safety. John knew riding a horse could always turn dangerous, so he willingly followed Sherlock’s directions.

Moving to stand further in front of John and to the side of the horse’s head, Sherlock took hold of the front rein, controlling Axel’s minor head bobbing and stilled his anxious movements. 

“Let’s take things slow.” Sherlock contemplated, beginning to walk and leading the horse forwards.

John gripped the horse’s reins firmly, body tensing with nerves.

“Be sure not to kick Axel’s sides. That’s right, slow.”

After long moments, Sherlock released his hold on the horse’s rein, and walked calmly at John’s side. 

“You’re doing wonderfully. Soon you’ll be able to ride with me.”

John’s eyes lowered to the ground, face feeling hot and he was unsure as to why.

“Now pull the reins to the left, gently, but firmly. Axel will move with you.” Sherlock spoke once they were nearing the gardens of the estate.

John did as instructed. Axel rounded slowly and began the path back to the farmhouse. Sherlock, still walking at his side, raised a hand and patted John’s knee. John met Sherlock’s stare, his heart jumped when a kind smile greeted him. For some bizarre reason, John returned it with one of his own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John leisurely walked around the gardens later that afternoon, feeling the alpha’s gaze on him, burning a hole in the back of his head. The alpha, though having permission to walk beside him, chose to remain several steps behind him. John ignored the alpha’s presence and fondly caressed the petals of a uniquely vibrant pink flower before him, and wondered what the name of this particular flower was.

“It’s a Cock’s Comb flower.” Sherlock admired with an amused smile spreading across his face.

John gawked at the alpha.

“No… You’re joking.” 

“No. They are called cock for short.” Sherlock’s eyes twinkled, but John could read the honesty that was there. 

John knew it was juvenile, but couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of him. 

“It’s a lovely cock isn’t it?” Sherlock teased and sent John into a frenzy of laughter. 

Sherlock's smile broadened and he chuckled deeply. The two tittered at the absurdity of it all. 

“Would you like a bouquet of cocks?” John found himself adding and laughed all the harder by the dazed look Sherlock sent him. 

“ _Oh God!_ ” Sherlock exclaimed at the idea. 

“What’s so funny?” Someone cheerfully asked, obtaining John’s and Sherlock’s attention. The two turned to find Mr. and Mrs. Holmes taking a stroll in the gardens much like themselves. 

John and Sherlock blushed in-sync, glancing to each other as if to find another reason for their amusement. John couldn’t contain the giggles that rippled out of him and Sherlock soon followed with a snort of hilarity.

“Oh my, it must be a secret. Okay dears, no need to tell us. We’ll give you two your _privacy_. Come along honey.” Mrs. Holmes smiled happily, coming up with her own reasons as to why they were so jovial. She wrapped her arm around Mr. Holmes’ and walked off smiling.

“You’re horrible.” Sherlock mused, smiling wildly.

“ _Me?_ You’re the one who started it.” John choked through his laughter. 

“God, I love your laugh.” Sherlock sighed contentedly.

John blushed, lowered his gaze to the ground and mumbled, “Don’t start.” 

“ _Jawn!_ ” Sherlock whined when John broke into a brisk walk and Sherlock chased after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John had just exited from the outskirts of the woods when he found the alpha waiting for him. Standing there, shuffling from one foot to the other, as if Sherlock thought it best to give him time alone on his mid-morning walk.

As John silently approached the alpha, staring down at their feet standing less than a foot away from one another, he waited for Sherlock to speak. 

“Good morning.” Sherlock greeted shyly and John wondered why the alpha sounded so nervous, but then one of Sherlock’s hands tucked at his back moved from behind him and lifted up a bouquet of white lilies. 

John’s jaw dropped, mouth agape, utterly stunned. 

_What… Sherlock…_

“Um...” John was unsure what to say, slowly reaching out and taking the flowers from the alpha. 

“Thank you will suffice.” Sherlock sighed, disappointed in the omega’s response. 

“Thank you.” John whispered and stared down at the ground before heading for the estate. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had just stopped snowing when Sherlock arrived at Sherrinford. He was feeling a bit exasperated with how Sally and Anderson felt the need to interrupt him as he made his deductions at the crime scene. It had thrown off his groove of things; still, he made snide remarks back at them that caused their faces to go red. God, Sherlock truly enjoyed that.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to find John; he was out in the yard, admiring the beauty of Sherrinford blanketed in a thick layer of white snow. The leather black coat his omega wore seemed to be keeping him warm in the chilly winter evening.

“Hello.” Sherlock smiled when John spun around, catching sight of him, sensing his presence. 

John smiled back and Sherlock wasn’t sure the omega realized he was doing it.

“Sherlock.” The omega greeted back, voice soft, kind, soothing, so unlike him.

“You seem to be in good spirits.” 

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?” Sherlock was rather curious.

“It snowed.” John laughed as if it was obvious. 

“It did.” Sherlock’s smile broadened. 

“I love the snow.” John chuckled good-naturedly, but Sherlock also took notice John was swaying a bit where he stood and his eyes were glassy. 

“Are you drunk?”

John huffed as if the notion were ridiculous. 

“I’m not drunk.” John giggled, lowering his eyes to the ground as if bashful, cheeks turning rosy.

Sherlock’s felt his eyes crinkle by how hard he was smiling now.

“Ah, I see, has mother started serving eggnog?” 

John hooted with amusement, pointed his finger at Sherlock before he tapped the tip of his own nose. 

“You caught me!” John’s jovial nature was contagious.

Sherlock hadn’t much liked John drunk at their wedding, though really that wasn’t so much drunk as it was horribly smashed. This though, a few drinks of eggnog in John, was so much more interesting. 

Sherlock moved to stand a foot across from John and watched with interest as the omega’s eyes scanned his form.

"Where did you go dressed like that?” John mumbled, his lips pouting into a not so pleased scowl.

Sherlock’s brows furrowed with confusion. Glancing at himself wondering what was the matter with his choice of attire. He wore a fitted purple button up shirt, black slacks, jacket, and leather dress shoes, and a midnight blue wool pea coat. 

“What’s the matter with how I'm dressed?” Sherlock frowned. It was one of his favorite outfits. 

John growled, startling Sherlock. Raising his eyes back up, Sherlock found angry dark blue glaring daggers at him. All at once, John reached out and fisted the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and drew him in close.

“Who is she?” John graveled.

“Who?” Sherlock squawked. 

“That bimbo. I smell her on you!” John snarled, inhaling stridently, another growl, much more threatening erupted.

Sherlock stared on in bewilderment; the only woman he’d been close to that day was Molly. They’d been surveying a victim’s body at the morgue. He’d brushed passed her a few times during their examination of the body, all innocent contact, but her scent wouldn’t have rubbed off enough that he’d be drenched in her scent. Then again, John was an omega, omegas senses were the strongest of all, so of course he’d scented Molly. 

“Molly?” 

“You… cruel man.” John grimace, “You have a mistress, _already?_ ”

“What?” Sherlock choked through a bout of laughter, the idea of him and Molly together was ludicrous. 

John released him of his hold and took two steps back, his head bowing, pain filling his features and Sherlock realized laughing maybe wasn’t the best thing he could have done.

“Molly… Is that her name?”

“John.” Sherlock said, laughter dying out, but the smile tugging at the ends of his lips remained, realizing why John was reacting like he was now. 

“Is she… pretty?” John mumbled weakly, kicking the snow under him furiously. 

“You’re prettier.” Sherlock took a step closer.

“Shut up. Stop flirting with me and go to your _Molly_.” John shot out angrily, spinning on his heel and walking off.

Sherlock couldn’t stop his laughter from bursting free once more and chased after John.

“John, wait!” 

“Leave me alone!” 

“Come now, John. Can you let me explain first?”

John inhaled deeply, stopped and waited for Sherlock to catch up.

“Molly isn’t my mistress. She works at the morgue and I met with her today because of a case.” Sherlock said with a smile on his face and leaning in close to inhale John’s intoxicating scent.

“Why would I want a mistress when I have you? You’re all I need.” Sherlock teased, nudging John’s arm with an elbow before rounding to stand in front of him.

“For a case?” John asked, needing to be sure.

Sherlock nodded his head watching as the omega’s cheeks reddened further, his neck and ears turning just as red. 

“Oh, God, does this mean I’m possessive over you?” John wondered fearfully.

“You’re the same as me.” Sherlock snickered.

“Uh… I said that out loud?”

Sherlock nodded emphatically and spun his back to John. He walked down the path John began before they’d stopped. 

Something hard, cold, and wet hit the back of his head, bursting on impact. Sherlock froze, momentarily surprised, having never seen this coming, and then turned to find a smugly grinning John behind him.

“Must not be drunk enough to ruin my aim.” John laughed.

“You just… Did you really just…” Sherlock was astonished. 

John bent down to the ground, scooped up another ball of snow before launching it at Sherlock, and this time it hit Sherlock’s left leg. A smile reappeared on Sherlock’s face.

“Oh you’ve asked for it!” Sherlock called, scooping up his own and the two began swinging balls of snow at each other.

John hit Sherlock’s ass with a cold ball of snow when Sherlock bent to grab snow for himself. John broke out into hysterical laughter, clutching his sides, heaving heavily through his amusement. Sherlock used this to his advantaged and launched two snow balls at him, hitting John in the chest and stomach.

As they continued their snow ball fight they’d gravitated closer, until a mere foot of snow separated them. When Sherlock attempted to reach for snow, John smashed the one in his hand over Sherlock’s head. It was a rush of unwanted coolness, but Sherlock’s smile never diminished. He forgot about retrieving snow to stare into John’s deep blue eyes, and straightened out in front of him. 

Grinning toothily, Sherlock hesitantly moved and brushed the snow scattered in John’s hair off. John smiled thankfully and wordlessly did the same for Sherlock. When there was no snow left, Sherlock’s eyes drifted down to John’s lips. 

God, he wanted to kiss John so much. Needed to taste him, immerse himself in all that was John, but the omega wasn’t ready. Sherlock knew that. Instead he pulled back, cleared his throat and said.

“Let's go inside. It’s turned rather cold.” 

John simply nodded and the two made their way back to the estate, side by side, smiling at one another. Sherlock knew the likelihood John would remember this was slight, but still, this was one of the best days they’d had together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John grumbled under his breath no clear words or sentiment, other than the feeling of absolute annoyance.

Sherlock had interrupted John as he was seated in the library reading an actually interesting book, grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt and began tugging and pulling until John rose and began following Sherlock to some unexplored area of the north wing. 

When Sherlock came to a sudden halt, John actually began to take in the room they’d entered. The walls of the three corners of the room were absent and in its place were large windows. The only wall was behind them leading out and back down the north wing. 

The view was amazing as it looked out the three visage points of the yard and outer lands. The full moon shone brightly through and casted a blue glow outside. 

John might have paid more attention to the glass walls, but the small table in the center of the room covered with a white table cloth, holding upon it a small bouquet of red roses, two long white lit candles, and two culinary prepared meals, stole his attention.

“What is this?” John murmured, shoulders slumping, feeling weighed down by the romantic sight. 

“I asked my parents if we could use this room to have dinner alone. I thought it would be a nice change to… Well, come sit.” Sherlock spoke softly, avoiding direct eye contact and took to seating himself in one of the two chairs. 

John didn’t much like the whole romantic candle lit dinner, but he rather this than eating with the other Holmes’. Releasing a heavy sigh, John seated himself across from the alpha and stared down at their meal. It was some type of Italian pasta. 

“Eat, I ordered it from a previous client of mine. He has an Italian restaurant in the city. We should go there next time.” Sherlock thought aloud.

John mutedly nodded and tried to ignore the agitated huff of breath that the alpha puffed out.

“You lied.” Sherlock drawled implacably.

John forked at his food, not detoured in the slightest. 

“About what?” John asked, taking a bite and was surprised by how good it really was. 

“You said you would try. You are _not_ trying.”

John set his fork down and palmed his face, letting out an agitated groan.

“What do you want from me? We’re talking. I’m spending time with you. I’m even eating a candle lit dinner with you!” 

“Talking and _Talking_ are two different things. Trying means you’ll open up to me and accept me. All you’ve been is civil rather than being the frigid omega you were our first night.” Sherlock’s voice lowered several octaves, turning spiteful. 

John sneered, a malicious smile sprouting upon his face. This was it. This was what John had been waiting for, the moment Sherlock would give up the façade of being a kind alpha and show his dominate side. _ALL_ alphas were dominate. Sherlock was no different. 

“You won’t let me even touch you. I have to hold your sleeve, _your bloody sleeve_! I’m your husband and yet you treat me like some _foul frothing at the mouth alpha!_ I treat you with respect and you still won’t even consider me your husband!” Sherlock was trembling as he spoke adamantly; his words were wobbling, choking up in his throat before blasting out of him full of sentiment. 

John’s anger dissipated slightly, replaced by an ever growing confusion.

“I don’t like being touched by you! You say you’re obedient, but you try to touch my thigh and when I told you to knock it off, you hold my hand!”

“You pinned me to the bed and tried to… I’m not the only one touching!” 

“One time! That was one time and it was because your bloody alpha pheromones messed me up.”

The two glared at one another.

Sherlock finally let out an uneven breath and bowed his head. 

“I’ve been trying to be patient. Show you I meant what I said, that you’re safe with me, but you won’t allow yourself to take that finale step. I held your thigh and hand because I thought I could condition you into opening yourself up to the idea of touching other than scenting, but it didn’t work. You pushed me back further after that. So I thought bonding, spending more time together would also have you see I’m not a bad person. Let’s face the truth, John. No matter how hard I try, what I do, you will always see me as the enemy.” Sherlock confessed, weighed down, voice brittle, and John’s stomach churned nauseatingly when the alpha’s eyes gleamed in the candle light.

“I’m an alpha. I _can’t_ change that… no matter how much I wish I could.”

John’s lips pursed, but words were lodged in his throat; unable to speak, he stared blankly at the alpha. 

“I…” Sherlock cut himself off, palmed his eyes and took in deep measured breaths.

“It’s not enough. It will _never_ be enough for you.” Sherlock dropped his hand limply at his side, icy blue eyes hardening, glaring at John.

“Fine then, _hate me_. Keep hating me John, but know that no matter what happens... I won’t let you go.”

Possessiveness. John pinpointed it in a second, but where he once felt annoyance, he now felt comfort and wasn’t that just the sickest of thoughts. 

Sherlock rose to his feet and without saying another word, he left the room. John began to contemplate the alpha’s words.

That night after John readied for bed and slipped under the sheets he remained awake, silently waiting for the alpha’s return. No matter their arguments or how angry John was, Sherlock always returned to scent him. Sherlock never came. John watched through the window as the dark sky brightened with the return of the sun. Sherlock did not attend breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and he never came to find him during the day. 

The next night, John tossed and turned in bed, agitatedly waiting, but nothing. 

That next morning at breakfast when John asked where Sherlock was, Mycroft had answered. Apparently, Sherlock owned a flat in the city and would be staying there for some time, solving a case or something of that sort, though John wasn’t sure about that. Maybe it was the way Mycroft spent each meal glaring murderously at him, seeming to blame John for Sherlock’s absence.

Two weeks came and went and during that time, John couldn’t understand why, but his thoughts continuously and frustratingly drifted towards Sherlock. The pained look of those eyes that had stared at him with such want and need, and the memories of each time he shot the alpha down, pushed him away, heartlessly. 

Guilt, sadness, and confusion plagued him, wrapped a painful grip around his heart and gave a ruthless squeeze when he thought about the alpha. Thought about how he truly was a liar, that his trying wasn’t in fact trying and that each time Sherlock truly had tried, he’d rejected him.

The way John felt about Sherlock… It had changed. He no longer felt that Sherlock was one of those dominating cruel alphas he’d heard about. His new found perception on Sherlock was a bit alarming. Sherlock was no prince charming, but he was compassionate, lenient, sweet, and docile. 

Two days before his heat cycle was to begin, Mycroft left to stay in the city, not wanting to risk being drawn to John when his heat kicked in. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes wanting to give John and Sherlock their privacy during this time planned a weeklong cruise to the Caribbean. They also gave most of the staff a week’s long paid vacation time. There were still people who would come to tend to the horses, but they were all betas and would stay outside of the home. The staff happily left the estate for their own vacations around the same time as Mycroft left. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes reassured John that although Sherlock was busy with work, he would return the day before John’s heat started. Sherlock promised Mrs. Holmes he would. 

John felt a mixture of emotions at the knowledge of Sherlock’s impending return and spent most of that day in the alpha’s office. Thinking about what would happen when the alpha returned. Would he be angry still? Would he have forgiven him? Would he want to claim him forcefully or would he wait for John to be ready?

Sherlock didn’t come in that morning or afternoon. John made his meals and ate them by himself, the empty house was eerily silent and John felt absolutely alone.

John never wanted to accept the truth that was steadily making its presence known. He hated the loneliness, but most of all he hated that this loneliness was because of one person’s absence. He missed Sherlock. He missed him so much. He missed being scented at night, missed being surprised in the afternoons and doing something new every day, missed the voiceless stares they’d shared as they ate. But most of all, John missed the way Sherlock would smile at him as he said such kind and endearing sentiments.

As John lay in bed waiting for his alpha; he began to wonder if he would even show up. As the hours passed and the alpha still had yet to arrive, John curled in on himself. Pressing his face into the alpha’s designated pillow, he inhaled deeply and clamped his eyes shut. He was alone. His alpha had abandoned him. John hugged himself tightly, balling himself in a cocoon of blankets to keep warm from the chill of winter and released a pained howl; a howl of loneliness that went unanswered...

  



	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock never came…

Although Mrs. Holmes reminded Sherlock that John’s heat would soon be starting, the alpha had lied to her. 

Sherlock abandoned him.

John should have felt relief when he drifted off to sleep as the sun rose, but all he’d felt was forsaken. The pained soft whimpers that broke through clenched teeth as he forced himself to sleep were little comfort.

At 10:24AM it woke him… Searing, blazing, all consuming… Heat.

The room once cool now felt boiling hot, humid, heavily laced in his pheromones, Sherlock’s scent completely absence, drowned out by his own. Scorching clammy wetness soaked his pants and sweats. John could hardly do much in the fog of heat. 

Arousal kindled, his cock throbbing and highly sensitive. When John shifted slightly in the bed, his cock jolted from the tight confinements of his pants and his ass cheeks slid against each other wetly. John moaned a mixture of pleasure and pain. Even such a little friction as that was still felt too much to withstand, and yet his anal hole needed more. 

Sweat beaded across the expanse of his skin, gliding along the curves of his body, accumulating at the center of his chest, soaking his shirt. John wanted to throw off the bed sheets, take off his clothes, and touch himself. Fist his cock and finger his asshole, over and over again, drenching one hand in cum, his other in slick. John moaned at the thought and his hips squirmed with anticipation, another pulse of pleasure running through him at the sensation of a fraction of friction. 

John wanted to be filled and knotted more. His omega was screeching for him to find his mate and let himself be claimed. John slept through the beginning stages of his heat and was now being blasted with the urge to copulate. The enormous amount of slick he’d produced soaked his pants and trousers thoroughly. Palming the mattress under him, John found it equally wet.

John couldn’t take three days of this, three long, _very long_ days of loneliness, of an absence from his mate.

John’s omega sobbed, _Sherlock! Mate! Mount! Knot!_ continuously, driving his hormones mad with want, but he needed to think. He had to figure out a way to have his mate. It wasn’t easy coming up with a plan; the pulsing of his cock and contracting of his anal walls were rather distracting. 

Throwing off the sheets with a heavy grunt, using much of his strength to move the heavily thick duvet, John panted with exertion and reached for his mobile resting on the bedside counter. Hurriedly dialing a number, John waited for an answer.

“Hello, love. I thought I’d never hear from you again.” A soft voice sang happily on the other line. 

“H— Har— Harry.” John wheezed breathlessly.

“ _Johnny?_ What’s wrong?”

“H— H— Heat.” 

“You’re in heat! Why are you calling me? What’s happened? Is it Sherlock? Did he do something to you? — God, he’s hurt you, hasn’t he?” Harry growled the last part threateningly, already formulating a gory scenario and preparing to murder the man. 

“L— Listen!” John shouted, panicking himself, needing Harry to listen, not jump the gun and plan his husband’s death, being that at this very moment John would rather be sitting himself on Sherlock's alpha cock and fucking his heat away. 

“What is it?”

“Come… to Sherrinford. Need… Need to… find Sherlock.” John wiped the sweat running down his face away, he’d never sweat this much and his skin never felt this warm, God, the suppressants had screwed him up bad. 

“Okay. I don’t understand what’s going on, but okay.” Harry said baffled, but nonetheless trustingly. 

John hung up, unable to say much more and fell back onto the bed with a wrecked moan. Curling inward, tears blurred his vision and he let out a pained cry, a cry that morphed into a sorrowful howl. He howled for an alpha who neglected him, left him to wither away in an empty mansion all alone. 

Harry came an hour and thirty-four minutes later. It took John thirty of those minutes to get himself out of the bed and sluggishly make the long way to the front door. When Harry arrived, he’d swung open the doors and fell into her arms. Sobbing against her neck, he nuzzled her scent gland.

Harry was kin. John knew that being in heat wouldn’t spur her into mating with him. Although the scent of an in heat omega would set off an alpha’s arousal, an alpha could not breed a member of their family, omega or not. Their sense of logic would still remain enough so to understand that much at least. 

John’s omega enjoyed her alpha pheromones. It wasn’t the same as Sherlock’s, but it was a comfort and it cleared his mind enough so the he was able to comprehend Harry was saying something.

“What’s happened John? Tell me.”

“Sherlock’s staying in the city.” John whispered, wrapping his arms around his sister’s shoulders and inhaling another deep breath of her alpha pheromones, calming further in her hold. 

“What? Why?” Harry’s brows furrowed with bewilderment. 

“It doesn’t matter. Here is the address.” John huffed, shoving his phone into Harry’s hand.

While John waited for Harry he’d texted Mycroft, requesting the exact location of Sherlock’s flat. He’d half expected the older man to ignore his text, given the heated glares he’d been sending his way since Sherlock left Sherrinford. If he had chosen not to reply, there were still Mr. and Mrs. Holmes he could contact. However, thankfully, Mycroft sent the address with no other message but it. 

Apparently, though Mycroft was John’s mediator, he didn’t care enough to find out why it was John texted him during his heat for Sherlock’s address. It was obvious the older alpha wasn’t pleased with him. He could only imagine what Sherlock had told him. Nevertheless, John didn’t care enough for Mycroft to think too long about it.

“Okay, but—”

“Harry!” John whined impatiently. 

“Okay, we’ll go!” Harry exclaimed, grumbling nonsense while assisting John to his feet and out the door. 

John leaned heavily against Harry’s shoulder moaning weakly as each step made his wet thighs rub together and sent pleasure coursing through him. John landed heavily against the cushions of the backseat, laying himself along the seats, not caring to strap himself in.

Harry rushed to the driver’s seat, buckled up, and the car revved with life. John knew she was speeding down the winding roads of the country, but John’s focus was on steadying his breathing and the racing of his heart. 

Soft strangled whines slipped passed his parted lips, needing his alpha’s attention. His sister’s once comforting alpha pheromones were now a slap to the face, a painful reminder his alpha had discarded him and he was forced to exhaust his energy thinking and searching for his mate. Right now he shouldn’t be wasting so much of his energy doing anything but fucking. 

“How—how much longer?” John wheezed, wiping the sweat from his face for what felt like the umpteenth time. 

“Forty-five minutes.” Harry answered, glancing away from the GPS to check up on John, her face a mixture of worry and anger.

“What kind of alpha deserts their omega when they’re in heat!” Harry raged, not expecting an answer, but John’s pained whimper surprised her. 

“I’m sorry, John. I just…” 

John whimpered again, eyes flooding with tears, his hormones were everywhere and he was rather sensitive at the moment. Any insult in regards to his alpha was painful. Harry said nothing more, the car lurching as she slammed the accelerator to full capacity. 

John’s vision blurred as his fever rose, panting heavily. John focused on remaining aware of his surroundings, but his eyes were growing heavy. His body quaked, abdomen convulsing with painful cramps. Slick poured out in a never ending supply from his anus and John sobbed harder, hiccupping keen whines. 

“Sherlock… _I need Sherlock!_ ” John’s omega wept pathetically.

“We’re almost there!”

That was the last thing John remembered before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wake up!” A shrill scream snapped John back to awareness followed by a stinging soreness biting into his arm.

Opening his eyes, he found his sister’s soft blue staring with panic down at him, her claws embedded deep into his arm. John blinked several more times, coming to realize that the car engine was off and Harry was seated awkwardly between the passenger seat and his own. 

“Harry?” John croaked, his mouth was dry and he needed water. 

“I spoke to the landlady. Sherlock isn’t home, but she’s agreed to open the door for us. I need you to put this on. We can’t have an unbound alpha scenting the way you smell right now.” Harry explained in a rush, shoving a dark blue pea coat in his direction. 

John inhaled the coat and an angst-ridden howl reverberated through the car. It was one of Sherlock’s coats, it was laced in the alpha’s scent, and his pheromones sent his body into pleasant convulsions. 

“I know it’s a lot to handle, but it will drown out your scent enough to lead you inside.” Harry huffed, wordlessly assisting John’s weak form in slipping it on.

When Harry finished buttoning up the coat, she retrieved two thick dull blue scarves and wrapped them around his neck. John was already hot enough as it was, but the additional wear was muddling what was left of his senses. 

Harry opened the car door and scooted backwards before grabbing a firm hold of John’s arms and hauled him out. John tried to stand straight, but the fever was at an unhealthy high and he toppled forwards and against Harry. 

Luckily Harry expected this, wrapped her arm around his waist and wound one of John’s arms around the back neck. The two hobbled around the car and to a building, civilians passing by stared on with curiosity, but none seemed to scent his heat. 

“Hurry.” Harry encouraged, not wanting to risk their luck and the two took the steps two at a time.

A petite elderly woman was standing at the front door, kind eyes full of concern, but nevertheless smiling welcomingly. The moment they neared, she’d wordlessly assisted Harry in carrying John. John didn’t care in his current state, but he knew he’d later feel mortified that these two women were forced to carry him in his current state. 

Nevertheless, John was grateful for assistance, but in his current condition he couldn’t really speak fluently. Harry and the landlady carried him up a narrow staircase. John’s legs felt heavy and without his cane the two women were forced to bear his whole weight. His steps were hesitant, clumsy and he’d lost his footing more than once, but the women had a steady hold of him and strengthened their grip.

The landlady had already unlocked the apartment door and it was left wide open for them. John vaguely took in the mess of the apartment, his eyesight was unfocused, his head whirling, he hardly registered the couch the women tottered his frail form to, until they were laying him on his back over the cushion. 

John moaned piteously, his eyes fogging over with tears; the scent of his alpha was unbelievably present. It was everywhere, wrapped up in everything. This was most certainly a frequented flat, no matter that the alpha lived predominantly at Sherrinford estate; this was also the alpha’s living space. The times the alpha left him in the morning, John finally knew where he’d been going. 

“Oh dear, don’t cry love. Sherlock will be back soon.” The elderly landlady cooed, kneeling before the couch and near his head. A mothering gentle hand brushed away the hot tears staining his face. 

John shook his head, hating himself for having lost complete control, but he wasn’t himself, he hadn’t been himself since he’d woken that morning and heat struck. He was no longer in full control; his omega side was coming out in waves. A shameful part of himself he kept dormant for the majority of his life, was released during heat cycles. It was the one time that his omega side reigned. 

Sobbing miserably, John’s trembling hands struggled in removing the coat and scarves. He failed utterly, what with the power of his convulsions. The landlady and Harry assisted him without a word. They didn’t bother waiting for him to ask for help, knowing he wouldn’t, most likely unable to formulate the coherency enough to speak clearly. 

When John was divested of the alpha’s clothing, Harry and the landlady wandered off to talk privately. John turned over on his side, facing the back of the couch, arms tucked between his chest and the couch; he pulled in his legs and lay in the fetal position. He shut his eyes, and once more focused on his breathing. The alpha’s scent was driving him mad, his fever was rising, his convulsions were severe, his anus contracted painfully, and he could slowly feel the slick dampen the cushions of the couch. He should feel utterly mortified, knowing for weeks after, the scent of his slick would linger on the alpha’s couch, but right at this moment none of that matter. It didn’t matter that he’d come to the alpha’s flat uninvited, that the alpha didn’t want to see him, no; John didn’t care about how the alpha wanted to avoid him. He didn’t care because right now his omega wanted Sherlock. This was about purpose and his purpose was to be filled with his alpha’s seed for the next three days, impregnated, and tend to their pups. 

A mournful howl gurgled out of him, so soft, a gentle broken bay of an omega brought to their lowest point. 

Harry and the landlady stopped talking to listen to the distressed song of the omega before them and their eyes softened with concern.

John covered his mouth with his hands and silently wept as the women spoke once more and he finally listened in.

“Mrs. Hudson, do you have any idea when Sherlock will arrive?”

“I’m not quite sure. He did mention something about a case early this morning.”

“So you really aren’t sure he will come back soon then?”

“No, but he usually comes back in the mid-afternoon to clear his mind and work on cases. However… If he’s gotten a lead, he could be gone for hours, _days even_.” Mrs. Hudson whispered the last part as if worried John might overhear her.

John did. Omegas had great senses, the strongest. John’s omega curled in on itself in grief. _Hours… Days..._ What was John going to do if Sherlock did not show up soon? 

“Oh, honey, are you alright? You look rather flushed?” Mrs. Hudson worriedly noted of Harry. 

“Not really, John’s scent is affecting my alpha instincts.” Harry palmed her forehead, wiping the sweat from her brow, breathing heavily. 

“ _Oh, dear!_ Do you mean rut?” Mrs. Hudson laid a kind hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Yes. I— I hate to ask this of you, but do you think you could stay with John? Keep watch over him, you’re a beta and his heat would have no affect on you.” 

“Of course, dear. I understand. You have a mate don’t you?”

“Yes. I’ll head home to her now. Here’s my cell number. Please call me and let me know how he’s doing, and tell me when Sherlock arrives?”

“Of course.” 

Harry kneeled beside John’s shivering form and gripped to his arm in comfort and to catch his attention. 

“John…”

“I… know.” John whispered, his eyes still shut.

He understood that Harry couldn’t stay for too long. The scent was setting her alpha instincts to mate and if she didn’t find her mate soon, she’d become feral. It was dangerous for an alpha to be this close to an omega in heat. They could lose themselves to their animal side. 

“Mrs. Hudson will keep watch over you, okay? She has my number and if you really need me, I’ll come back.”

John nodded his head, felt the soft press of lips on his head of hair, a firm squeeze of his arm, and then Harry was gone. 

John could hear Mrs. Hudson bustling about and several minutes later she returned. 

“Here, love. Put this wet towel on your forehead. I turned the air conditioner on so you’ll feel loads better.” Mrs. Hudson explained.

John exhaled erratically, enjoying the coolness of the towel and hummed a ‘thank you’ before Mrs. Hudson was off again. She returned soon with another wet towel and used it to wipe away the sweat layering his face and neck. Every once in a while she’d feel at his pulse, reassuring herself his heart rate wasn’t in the danger zone. She then retrieved a cold glass of water with a straw and helped John drink two glasses before seating herself near his side, and watching over him as he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time John woke up, he knew much time had passed. The flat lights were switched on and a glance out the window showed the dark clear skies of night.

“How are you feeling dear?” Mrs. Hudson’s kindly asked, rising from a nearby chair and moving to kneel at John’s side.

John stared blankly up at her, breathing in short loud puffs of air; he rose out a hand in her direction while simultaneously forcing himself to sit up. Mrs. Hudson took hold of his hand and assisted him in straightening out on the seat. 

John’s body was drenched in sweat and slick, the sickly sweet smell of his heat didn’t go unnoticed, not to his own senses. 

“Sherlock?” John rasped, his eyes half lidded, delirious with fever. 

Mrs. Hudson’s features softened into one of pity and John had his answer.

Bowing his head and biting into his bottom lip, John accepted defeat. 

“Oh, sweet. He _will_ come. I’ve been calling him, true he hasn’t answered yet, but he always calls back.” 

“His room.” 

“What?”

“His room, bed, where is it?” John couldn’t wait any longer. His mate had abandoned him, he needed to start pleasuring himself alone, if he didn’t even start doing that pretty soon his fever would reach danger zone. 

Heats were relatively simple if an omega had a partner to help them through it. If they did not, then they spent their heats pleasuring themselves. But on rare cases where an omega did neither, their fever would continue to rise. It was rare, but an omega could die if they reached danger zone. 

“ _Oh!_ ” Mrs. Hudson gasped, rising to her feet, understanding the omega’s intent.

John rose to his feet and walked slowly with an arm around Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder, allowing the woman to guide him passed the kitchen, long hallway, and to a spacious bedroom. John quickly noted this room was pristine, neat, everything in its rightful place, and so unlike the mess of the living area. 

John sat himself heavily on the edge of the middle of the bed. Mrs. Hudson stood awkwardly in front of him.

“Is there anything you need?”

“No.” John whispered, eyes welling with unshed tears, reduced to handle his heat alone. His omega whined at the utter humiliation of it all. 

How could a bound omega do this themself? It was wrong. Sherlock bit him, the scar on his neck evidence he was mated, yet he’d been rejected. Was this how Sherlock felt every time he’d rejected him? 

“Okay. I’ll be in the living area if you need me.” Mrs. Hudson voiced before leaving the room, giving John privacy, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

John’s omega wailed ruefully for Sherlock, clawing its way to the surface. John couldn’t hold in the pain of loneliness as it swept through him, tears overflowed and cascaded down his flushed cheeks. Clamping his eyes shut, John kicked off his shoes and took hold of the hem of his shirt. He lifted it up high over his head, removing it and let it fall to the ground before working on the drawstrings of his sweatpants. Unknotting the tie, John leaned back into the bed, hooked his thumbs through his sweats and pants and shoved off the drenched clothing, leaving him bare. 

Weakly, John rolled over on his side, lifted his body somewhat to pull back the sheets of the bed and slipped under them. Laying himself on his stomach, John pressed his face into a plush pillow and inhaled sharply, immersing himself in the alpha’s scent. 

Hips rocked against the mattress, his throbbing cock gave a pleasantly painful jolt, welcoming the friction that stoked the fire of heat. Heavy, stuttering breaths puffed out, the movements of his hips increasing, setting a rougher, stronger pace. The head of his cock leaked profusely, saturating the sheets under him with the sweetness of his scent. As he nuzzled the pillow below him, the scent of Sherlock was all the more intense and he miserably become aware of how it mixed perfectly with his scent. 

John wanted Sherlock. 

_God! He wanted Sherlock!_

John’s body trembled, sweat dampening the sheets and all John could do to silence the distressed and frantic sobs from being clearly voiced and further shaming him was to bite into the pillow and drown out the words tumbling out of him as he humped himself to bliss. 

_Sherlock—want—need. Come—please come!_

John whimpered into the plush cushion, tears soaked up in cotton, and with one hard hump against the mattress, spasms rippled through strained muscles, a piercing keening tickled in the back of John’s throat and hot liquid spurted out and soaked the mattress with spunk. 

John sobbed vociferously. He lifted his head up from the pillow to breathe and with it lost himself to the pain of an unsatisfying release. It wasn’t good enough. Self gratification during his heats would never be the same now that he’d been marked. His omega didn’t want to satisfy its own needs, not when Sherlock claimed him, bitten him. It was Sherlock’s duty to give John gratification, to fill him up to the brink with his alpha cock, and to spill his enormous load deep into his ass and reach his womb. 

John wanted Sherlock’s cock. 

John wanted all of Sherlock’s sperm. 

John wanted to be filled over and over again, until he was stuffed full, and then he wanted _more_. 

John wanted to carry Sherlock’s pups.

John wanted to be worshiped and adored by the affections of his alpha, because he would give Sherlock kin, countless pups. 

John palmed his clammy forehead, groaning with the dizzying effects of heat, omega instincts, and his frustration for being placed in this situation. He was so confused. John didn’t know why he was doing this? He would have never come willingly to Sherlock in his current condition, but right now, all his omega wanted was to be near Sherlock. John was so tired of trying to understand himself. 

A woeful howl thundered through the room, ringing out, echoing around him, so powerful and damning. It left him before he truly realized he’d done it, his omega was taking over completely and John couldn’t silence that part of himself, not now that it was at its most strongest. John let go, shutting his eyes and releasing a heavy breath, he welcomed the most primal side of him and belted out another wrecked howl, deafening, keening, and doleful whines followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock loved John.

Sherlock loved John, but John didn’t love him.

Sherlock loved John, but he was an alpha.

Sherlock loved John, but John saw him as the enemy. 

Sherlock tried. God knows he’d tried. He’d tried everything he could think of. He’d been patient, compassionate, understanding. _Jesus!_ He’d even read books on how best to _woo your lover_. Nothing worked. Nothing would ever work until John was ready to accept him and so Sherlock came to the pained realization that there was nothing left for him to do. 

John didn’t want him, was guarded around him. John feared Sherlock and would never trust him. Sherlock was an alpha, physically and mentally stronger, but Sherlock’s heart was something else entirely. Sherlock wished he had a heart tough and unyielding, much like John’s, but he didn’t. His heart was weak, easily affected. It was breaking bit by bit as his omega…his beautiful John rejected him time and time again.

It was so excruciating. John was cold, cruel, unfeeling. He held no consideration for how Sherlock felt and it was wearisome. What the bloody hell was Sherlock supposed to do in order to have John realize he wasn’t going to hurt him? That all Sherlock wanted to do was love him. Sherlock only wanted to love John, it was a simply act that if John would allow, he was sure he’d be able to persuade the omega to feel the same. 

John discarded his wishes and so Sherlock was brought to his lowest point, his most desperate of points. He needed to woo John quickly, have him see just how important he was and so Sherlock had thrown everything at him, but nothing worked.

It hurt. Sherlock couldn’t keep putting himself out there for John to shoot him down like he was nobody. His heart was tattered and unbearable heartbreak was his only comfort. He lived each day with emptiness in the pit of his stomach as it churned horribly, and a devastatingly seizing heart. 

So Sherlock left. He’d left to give John the peace he much desired and to protect himself from the ever constant rejection. Even so, Sherlock missed John. He missed him so much and felt himself desiring the numbing peacefulness he’d once used to endure John’s absence when he’d been in the army. It was a secret he’d kept from John. His parents and Mycroft had tried breaking him of his habits, but after two years of John’s second tour, Sherlock slipped into the usage of drugs, whatever he could get his hands on he did, heroin being his first drug of choice though, and it’d helped for a time. 

Sherlock had managed to keep it hidden from his family for some time, but Mycroft, the ever watchful gentlemen figured it out. He’d found Sherlock strung out, riding the high in an abandoned warehouse more than a couple of times and signed him into rehab. Sherlock was not pleased, escaping the first few times, but then Mycroft reminded him of John, reminded him that John was going to need a strong sober alpha to provide for him and their pups when he did return from the war and it had been the driving force in Sherlock finally making a change and sobering himself up. Because although it was painful for him to accept the fact that John left to join the war, he knew one day he would return and Sherlock wanted to be a strong alpha for him. He wanted John to love him and he knew being drugged up, he’d never have that. 

None of that mattered now. John didn’t want him. He’d left Sherrinford for his flat in London and it was absolute hell. Sure there were cases and living in the city made it all the easier to work on his cases, but he missed going back to Sherrinford, knowing John would be waiting for him. It hadn’t really mattered that when he returned John would flashed him a look of mistrust and rejected his attempts of bonding, because at least they’d spend their nights scenting. At least John always accepted his scent, accepted that everyone would know John was bound to him.

Though now he didn’t even have their scenting. He spent the times between his cases alone in his flat, alone with his pained thoughts and the memories of each time John rejected him. He felt as if he was going mad between cases and craved the release that came in the form of his past addiction, but he couldn’t give in. He wouldn’t. He was married now, and though his omega loathed him, he still needed to provide for his husband. 

For the time being Sherlock would remain at 221B Baker Street. He would wait out John’s heat, unable to endure the rejection he would undoubtedly face then. It would destroy his alpha to know he was unwanted, undesired even on a primal base, his alpha couldn’t even be able to satisfy his omega’s needs, because he was detestable to John. 

When his mother called to remind him of John’s heat and to affirm he would be back in time, Sherlock lied, promising he would, but knowing John wouldn’t want him there kept him away. He’d spent the day before John’s heat laying on his bed within the darkness of his bedroom, sprawled out, breathing in slow shallow breaths, eyes closed and imagining what would happen if he got up from off the bed and headed for Sherrinford. 

He’d find John out in the yard, library, his office, their room, wherever the omega was, and he’d lower himself on his knees, wrap his arms around the omega’s legs and beg to help John through his heat. Then… John would laugh at him, snarl with disgust, shove him away, turn his back on him and demand he leave the estate, to keep his distance as he’d done. Not wishing to share his heat, heart, or anything else with him. 

Sherlock knew John must feel relief without him there. He must feel safe without him and so when Sherlock received a text from Lestrade about a double homicide case, he’d joylessly taken it. 

Sherlock put all his attention and effort in solving this case. He’d drowned out all thoughts of John in the hopes that this case would give him enough of a distraction to endure the paining loneliness of his married life. 

When his mobile buzzed with life, Sherlock ignored it as he’d been tailing what he believed to be his suspect. It buzzed several more times, but Sherlock was so distracted he’d barely registered its moderate humming. 

It was 2:36AM when Sherlock stood before Lestrade at the New Scotland Yard headquarters, debriefing his side of the events leading to the apprehension of the murderer that his phone hummed with life. Sighing with annoyance, Sherlock finished up what he was saying, took out his phone and sniped, “Hello.”

“Thank God! _Sherlock!_ ” Mrs. Hudson screeched with both frustration and relief.

“Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock quizzed, taken aback she would be calling him at such an hour, “What’s the matter?”

“Oh Sherlock, he’s been here waiting for you all day. He needs your help!” 

“Who?” Sherlock was at a loss.

“John!”

“John?” Sherlock’s brows furrowed tensely, making little sense through the ranting of what appeared to be a crazed Mrs. Hudson.

“ _Yes_.” Mrs. Hudson sobbed hysterically.

Sherlock’s body froze, his breath caught in his chest, he’d never told Mrs. Hudson his husband’s name. 

“His fever is rising. I’m afraid he might be going into shock!” Mrs. Hudson blubbered. 

“John… _John_ is at the flat? He… came to Baker Street?” Sherlock deduced the clarity in Mrs. Hudson’s words, but still… Sherlock found it hard to register the truth of them. John seeking him out just seemed so… beyond belief. Why John would… _It didn’t make sense!_

John hated him, detested him. He could hardly withstand Sherlock’s touch. Yet… _John_ … was at the flat… _Waiting for him?_

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson sniveled noisily.

Sherlock swallowed passed the lump in his throat and rasped out a weak, “I’m on my way.”

  



	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock threw a wad of bills to the cab driver the second they’d come to a stop, hastily stepped out of the vehicle, and rushed up the stairs leading to his awaiting mate. He pounded on his own door, lacking the patience or equanimity to retrieve his keys and open the door himself. Moments later the door swung open and Sherlock met the panicked stare of Mrs. Hudson. 

Sherlock opened his mouth in the starting of speech, but was immediately assaulted by the most tantalizing and mouthwatering aroma. He’d heard stories… heard how sweet an omega smelled when in heat. He’d even experienced a small dose of John’s omega sweetness when he’d swiped his towel so long ago. This though… _Oh, God._

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson called out with alarm when Sherlock swayed. Losing his balance, Sherlock shot a hand out and gripped to the frame of the door and steadied himself.

_John… **John…** John!_

Damp moss, rosewood, and hazelnut hit Sherlock’s senses first. It was a scent that he had long registered as John. However, another wave of fragrances beleaguered him. Potent, saccharine-like vanilla and the flavorful lightness of sweet bread, assorted nicely with the vitalizing scent of musk, spunk, and sweat. It was a bizarre combination, but one that sent his head rushing, whirling, and libido flaring. Sherlock’s inner alpha squirmed with eagerness. 

“Thank heavens you’re here. Nothing I do will seem to calm him!” Mrs. Hudson rambled.

Sherlock dipped his head low and pressed his forehead against the frame of the door, inhaling deeply from flaring nostrils.

_John!_

“Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson restlessly inquired, a hand planting itself on his shoulder and grasping a firm hold, drawing Sherlock’s attention.

“I—I can take over from here. You should go get some rest.” Sherlock rasped gruffly, body quivering without warning, vibrating with excitement and fear.

Mrs. Hudson eyed him circumspectly before tipping her head with acceptance. 

“Please, Sherlock, try and remain in control, no matter what.” She cautioned, giving her bit of wisdom to the young man before she stepped around him and quietly retreated.

Sherlock waited for Mrs. Hudson to enter her flat before he entered his home and shut the door behind him. Pressing his back against the door, Sherlock glanced around him, immediately noticing the discarded towels and cups set on the kitchen table and soiled cushions of his couch. Biting back a painful moan, Sherlock’s breathing quickened and, he struggled to normalize it.

A pitiable bawl of a howl bubbled out of a grating and gruff voice. A broken cry of a sob that was flecked with soreness from overuse and Sherlock’s eyes focused to where that pitiful noise erupted from. His room… John… How long had John been crying for him? How long had he suffered? John's fever... Sherlock reminded himself why he had rushed back.

Sherlock’s legs stuttered in their movement, hesitant, shaky, frightened and eager. A terrifying need and longing consumed his heart. Sherlock was scared, scared about what he would need to do, scared by his own instincts, scared because all of this was new to him and he didn’t know what was right. He liked knowing things. He liked being aware of the unaware, but this was something that far surpassed all of his knowledge.

Pressing a hand against the partially open door of his room, it softly creaked as it gradually swung, and Sherlock was greeted by a sight he was unprepared for.

There… laying on his bed was his omega. John rested on his stomach, bed sheets drawn back to his hips, his head twisted so that John faced him. John was flushed, sweat layered thickly over the skin that was exposed. But what surprised Sherlock the most was that John’s dark blue eyes were glassy, unfocused, and full of tears. John whimpered a desperate sob, tears breaking and falling, mixing with beads of sweat.

Sherlock swallowed dryly. Biting his tongue, he was unable to move, unable to follow his alpha instincts that urged him to climb on the bed and join his mate, to fill him, break John’s fever.

“Sss—such a cru—cruel husband.” John spat through a broken moan, tears smearing messily across his beet-red face when he buried it in the pillow, shoulders trembling, shaking with the voiceless hiccupping sobs.

“John...” Sherlock bleated, taking a hesitant step forward.

“ _Sherlock!_ ” John wailed through the pillow, voice cracking with distress.

Sherlock broke in that moment, hesitation forgotten in the sight of John breaking apart and he was suddenly standing beside the bed near John's head. Falling to his knees, Sherlock bowed lower, pressing his nose against the exposed ear before him, nuzzling against it. A hand reached out and clasped a hold of John’s. Sherlock carded the fingers of his free hand through damp blond hair and cradled the back of his head.

John sobbed harder as being touched pained him more than the loneliness. He turned his head so that he now faced Sherlock. Face, momentarily dry from wiping it across the pillow, John leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the alpha’s scent.

Sherlock’s breath caught in his chest, never having expected John to respond so eagerly to his touches. As John shifted his hand in Sherlock's grip so that their fingers folded, interlaced, Sherlock whined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pleasuring himself hadn’t worked. God knows how much John tried. He’d humped the bed for a second and third time. He jerked off more than he could count and fingered himself even more so, until his fingers were sopping wet and prune-like from the excessive slick streaming out of him. None of it appeased his heat. John’s fever rose and he’d lost his strength as the delirium of heat raged.

All John could do was sprawl out in bed, faint and starved of touch. He’d cried, something he felt great shame for, wept countless tears and sobbed out one name, over and over again in a powerless mantra of grief, ‘Sherlock’, _‘Sherlock… Sherlock… Sherlock!’_

Mrs. Hudson couldn’t ignore his cries and entered the room, finding John balled up in the sheets, fisting at his hair and screaming _‘Sherlock!’_ in a hysterical craze. Mrs. Hudson began weeping, at a loss of what to do when she felt his damp forehead, and becoming all the more alarmed by how hot John’s skin was.

Mrs. Hudson brought cool wet towels to him, lowering the thermostat as far as it could go, and expected it would help John’s fever. An omega’s fever was different from a normal fever. Omegas, when in heat, needed to copulate, but if for whatever reason they did not, they were left with the only reasonable decision, and that was to pleasure themselves until they rode their heat off. Only, John found his experience was far different.

During his first two heats, John was unmated and had taken care to pleasure himself through it, and the heats slowly subsided. Now that John was mated, Sherlock should have bred him until his heat abated, but Sherlock had cast him aside. John’s omega was left hankering for Sherlock's presence and it had driven him to seek out his mate. Sherlock was still absent, so he’d thought by pleasuring himself he could ride his heat alone until Sherlock returned.

John came to see just how much his omega treasured Sherlock, because no matter how much John brought himself off, he was left unsatisfied. His omega had chosen Sherlock as his true mate… It was the only explanation as to why his fever continued to rise and getting off felt unsatisfying.

John cried convulsively into the pillow as Mrs. Hudson stood by the bed dialing Sherlock again, only to be sent to voicemail.

“I’m… going to die.” John rasped, staring up at the blurred Mrs. Hudson.

“Don’t say foolish things! Sherlock is coming.” Mrs. Hudson lied, uncertain, and John lowered his head on the pillow, ruined.

Nothing mattered anymore. Sherlock didn't want him, John thought this as everything darkened.

When John woke again it was to Mrs. Hudson crying into her phone, talking hastily. When she screamed out, ‘Sherlock,’ John coiled inwards, groaned a feeble cry for this to be real and not a dream, then shut his eyes as darkness took him once more.

A scent woke John the next time, a pungent variation of herbal tea, sweet and freshly baked biscuits, the crispness of mint, and something else, something musky and bitter, bitterly engaging. These scents brought John back to awareness, woke him from the restlessness of a feverish rest. These scents made his omega tremble with want and reprieve. 

A disgraceful wail of a howl gurgled out of him, gravelly and gruff. John’s throat felt raw, tender from the slightest vocalization. A lump in the back of his throat ever present. His eyes stung with the realization that Sherlock had arrived. Sherlock was finally here.

When Sherlock entered the room, falling to his knees before him; an alpha overcome by their omega’s welcomingly enticing scent and began nosing his ear with care, kind hands dotingly laying affectionate touches on him, John wept. Tears dampened John’s momentarily dry face at hearing the heart-wrenching whine of his alpha.

His omega rejected his wish to pull away and countered those feelings by letting go of the alpha’s hand to instead wrap an arm around Sherlock’s back, drawing him ever close.

“I want you.” John said, full of commitment, pushing his mouth against the alpha’s cheek in a zealous sloppy kiss, and rolled onto his back. Without warning, John hauled Sherlock’s upper body on top of his, awkwardly.

“John.” Sherlock eagerly tucked his head alongside John’s scent gland and inhaled noisily.

“Want.” John’s hands moved up and weaved in dark tresses.

Sherlock hummed at ease and crawled fully on the bed, until he straddled John’s lap. John let out a dissatisfying sigh, his legs felt trapped against the bed sheets and Sherlock was wearing far more clothing than was appropriate. A clawed hand shot out and grasped a hold of Sherlock’s scarf. The offending thick cloth felt hot to the touch, it was one of the many articles of clothing Sherlock wore that scratched at his skin, bothersome and unneeded. The tearing of fabric filled John’s ears with delight and he let the tattered scarf fall off the edge of the bed before fisting a hold of a finely crafted dress shirt.

Sherlock pulled back from John, shock written on his face as he stared with disbelief at the man below him. John didn’t care. He needed. His omega needed. Letting out a huff resembling a bark of laughter, Sherlock shrugged off his coat and tossed it over the side of the bed. John smiled amused and with less care jerked clenched fists, shredding Sherlock’s shirt and sending buttons flying all over the place.

“John?” Sherlock said with astonishment and concern that maybe John was being a little too insistent.

Clothing was bothersome, but talking was even more so. Talking could come later, when his need for copulation wasn’t so dire. He’d spent the first day of his heat alone, suffering through a heavy fog brought on by his fever. True, with Sherlock’s presence his fever broke enough so that he could recognize and comprehend, but only enough so that his omega’s need to be bred could take over and bring about mating.

Breeding.

Pups.

Oh God, _pups!_

_John wanted Sherlock’s pups._

An untamed growl rumbled out of John, amazing Sherlock and himself, before he sat up with a start, pounced on the alpha and slammed the tall man back and into the mattress under his legs. Kicking his limbs from under Sherlock, John scrambled up and bore down on him. He pinned the alpha against the edge of the bed, pressing his hands against broad shoulders.

Sherlock gazed up at John with brows raised, hidden under his fringe, cheeks flaming with embarrassment; a pleading whine erupted out of Sherlock.

“Give it to me.” John snarled.

Unable to formulate words into a coherent sentence, he gave up and used actions to get his point across. With far more boldness than he thought himself to possess, John cupped Sherlock’s arousal, feeling beyond the confinements of fitted trousers and at the massive alpha cock that was there. The things John wanted to do with Sherlock’s cock… It all varied, but in the end, it all led to John being pounded, fucked hard and fast. _God!_ John just needed to have Sherlock in him, the pure need was enough to drive him crazy. He just needed to fuck Sherlock raw, take his fucking knot and be bred _thoroughly_.

Sherlock’s eyes widened even more than John thought was possible, the redness blossoming on his cheeks spreading to his ears and neck, a feeble noise that was just so… un-alpha-like burst forth.

“ _John_.” Sherlock began, biting into his bottom lip, glancing down to where John’s hand cupped a firm hold of the throbbing cock, before meeting John’s stare.

John’s omega didn’t like the look Sherlock was giving him now. There was desire, John smelled and felt Sherlock’s strong arousal for him, but there was most certainly worry, anxiety and hesitation. As if Sherlock were unsure about this situation.

“I don’t—” Sherlock started and John knew where that sentence was leading. It was leading to the alpha refusing him, possibly helping him endure his heat and fever, but ignoring the very alpha instincts that lurked within.

Sherlock was a good man and a kind alpha. Regardless of their arguments and John’s rejections, Sherlock was trying to give him a way out. Help, but not take advantage of him. John wanted to laugh at the very idea, because from another’s view on this situation, it most certainly looked the complete opposite.

Growling with frustration, driven to use his words, John gritted out through clenched teeth, “No… You breed me, now.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly and John watched as the lean man’s Adam’s apple bobbed, breaking John of any more patience. He’d waited long enough. A day spent alone through his heat was far longer than sanely possible for an omega to endure. He knew he’d lost his mind five jacking offs, eight fingerings, and thirteen unsatisfying orgasms ago.

“John!” Sherlock’s distressed shout rang out when John excitedly, desperately unfastened his belt and trousers, dug his fingers into trousers and pants, and yanked them forcefully off. Before Sherlock could reach out for them, John chucked them across the room, leaving Sherlock completely bare and exposed.

John’s eyes glided along Sherlock’s alabaster skin, sparse dark chest hair nearly invisible, inviting and intriguing. John wanted to run his fingers through it. _Another time for that_ , John thought to himself and then noticed a thin layer of dark hair that led from the alpha’s navel to a thick patch of pubic hair and lying in the thatch of hair was a porno worthy cock, beautifully flushed, deep red at the circumcised head. Sherlock’s cock was extensive and fat, dauntingly so. Sherlock was engorged, teasing John cruelly so. Seeing such a beautiful alpha cock made his hole constrict around hollowness, needing it, needing to be filled. It would be heaven to have it in him. So _heavy_ and… perfect. John wanted Sherlock in him, yesterday, quite literally.

John hurriedly shuffled out of the sheets swathed around his sticky, slick covered body and exposed himself to the alpha’s view. John smiled amusedly when the alpha took in his open form and let out a squawk from the back of his throat. John was uncircumcised: omegas didn’t need to be circumcised because they weren’t breeders (alphas were the only ones who were classified as breeders).

John’s cock was thick, nearly as thick as Sherlock's, something unusual for omegas, but his length was average for an omega, smaller than an alpha and beta, 5.5 inches. John never really cared about his size—he wasn’t made for breeding, only birthing pups. Every time his fertility was tested, he scored higher than average; exceptionally fertile was what he’d always been told. His gynecologist was most certain he’d birth as many pups as his alpha’s virility would allow. A grade 'A' omega.

“John.” Sherlock keened audibly, hands raised, taking hold of John’s own and sat up, taking the omega’s momentary pause to speak.

“I want to… I _really_ want to, but not now. I’ll… I’ll do everything else, but we shouldn’t—” Sherlock struggled to voice, lacing his fingers through John’s own and leaning in close to nuzzle his cheek with fondness.

“No.” John cut in Sherlock’s speech, voice solid, unmoved. “Breed.”

“John.”

“ _Breed_.”

“John.” Sherlock was stern now and John whined, tipping his head slightly to nuzzle the alpha’s nose, trying to appeal to Sherlock’s kinder side. He couldn’t let Sherlock refuse him, he felt so hot, so dizzy, and he was going to try his damndest to get through their first copulation, knowing that he’d feel far less feverous after.

“Sherlock.” John moaned.

Sherlock’s breathing intensified, growing heavier, his eyes focusing on John’s lips when the omega pulled away to meet those soft, shy blue eyes.

“Beautiful.”

“ _John…_ ”

John liked the way Sherlock said his name. Sherlock said it falteringly, like he was careworn. The more affection John laid on, the weaker Sherlock’s protests became and John finally found a reason to keep talking. If talking got him closer to Sherlock accepting him, John would do it. _Jesus! _John was ready to grovel if he got to have Sherlock's knot.__

He _needed_ Sherlock’s pups.

“Such a beautiful alpha.” John hummed happily, sliding his hands out of Sherlock’s grasp and palming the sides of Sherlock's jaw, staring directly into pale blue eyes.

“Breed me."

“John.” Sherlock rasped faintly.

“Fill me up."

“John.” Sherlock whimpered.

“ _Give me pups_.”

“ _Oh_.” Sherlock whispered with revelation, as if he hadn’t predicted that response. The thought of John wanting to carry his pups seemed to have done a number on him.

The omega in John happily lowered one hand, took hold of Sherlock’s own and planted it on his flat stomach.

“Give me pups.” John begged, desperately wriggling where he knelt on the bed.

“ _John_.” Sherlock huffed and when the omega tipped his head back and at an angle, nudging Sherlock’s nose against his scent gland, the alpha gave in with a broken howl.

Swooping John into his arms, Sherlock tucked his head against John’s scent gland, nosing the flesh there, humming deep within his chest as they fell back onto the bed. This time John was once again on his back and an equally eager and needing alpha lay on top of him.

It felt so good when soft feather-light lips rained down on him, peppering brief kisses along his neck. Sherlock continued, encouraged by the yielding keens ripping out from John and he sucked ruthlessly on the newly healed bond bite. The agitated flesh reddened, agreeably so before Sherlock was springing an uncoordinated sloppy path along John’s gleaming with sweaty skin.

“So good.” John exhaled in the fog, burning with the additional body heat, but needing it. He needed the attention of his alpha.

“Your skin feels so hot, John.” Sherlock noted worryingly, mouthing at the clavicle before him and John hummed in agreement.

John’s fingers tousled dark locks into a mess and he let out a sudden groan of delight when Sherlock’s mouth descended on a sensitive nipple. Sherlock nibbled on the nub with his teeth, careful not to press fangs along the tender flesh, bruising and inflaming the nub to hardness, playfully sucking at it in an openmouthed kiss when the hardened bead twitched in his mouth.

“More.” John sobbed, tapering his grip on dark tresses, drawing Sherlock the closest that was achievable.

“Is this real? Are _you_ real?” Sherlock contemplated aloud, the hotness of his tongue dragging the bridge of John’s chest to lay the same attention on his omega’s neglected nipple.

John was too far gone, squirming underneath Sherlock. John slithered a hand down the alpha’s head of hair, to the lean muscles of Sherlock’s back, until he clutched a flexing ass cheek. 

A harsh gust of air assaulted John’s nipple, Sherlock’s tongue faltering mid-suck as John tugged him near and compressed his throbbing alpha cock against John’s leg. Sherlock groaned and experimentally rocked against John’s leg. John made a noise between a moan and sob, voicelessly encouraging Sherlock to move, do more. The omega in him needed Sherlock to find some enjoyment, not wanting to be the only one who felt an immediate satisfaction through the actions of touch and sensations.

Sherlock’s hands skimmed John’s sides, up his chest and down to his thighs. His tongue slinked away from hardened nipples and along his abdomen, tonguing the grooves of his abs, periodically nipping at the fleshy parts.

“ _More_.” John bleated, voice grating from overuse.

“You smell so good.” Sherlock huskily admired, nuzzling the trail of dark hair leading south and nosed deep in a thatch of pubic hair, breathing in perceptibly.

“Good alpha.” John complemented, twirling fingers of one hand in the alpha’s hair while his other took hold of Sherlock’s hand currently stroking his stomach, and brought it to his mouth, showering kind kisses on long slender fingers.

Sherlock purred, a sound similar to a growl, but less feral, more soft and gentle.

“Really?” Sherlock asked hopeful.

John swallowed beyond the soreness of his throat and nodded steadfastly. Sherlock grinned toothily, breaking their stare in that moment and without faltering took the head of John’s cock in his mouth and sucked.

John let out a hissing gasp, fisting Sherlock’s head of hair, jerking at it unkindly and gripped the alpha’s hand in a painful hold.

“Oh!” John moaned, arching off the bed, moaning once again, his legs trembled by the sudden jolts of gratifying heat running through him, electrifying and all consuming.

Sherlock’s mouth was full, lips whitened as he took in more of the omega’s thick cock, filling his mouth completely and still wanting to take in more of John. There was so much. John involuntarily thrust up, driven by an instinctual need to seek out more of that pleasurable goodness. Sherlock gagged and instantaneously pulled away, releasing John’s cock from the sweltering cavern of his mouth.

John sobbed out in protest, tugging Sherlock back, clutching like a vice to his hair.

“Again. _Sherlock_.” John implored.

Sherlock blushed noticeably and John felt butterflies swarm by the alpha’s shyness. John's cock sputtered pre-come, drizzling messily, and Sherlock swiped his tongue over the slit, tasting his essence. Tossing his head to the side and burying his face in his pillow, John bit into Sherlock’s index finger as a pitiful noise erupted. Dire pleasure assaulted him when the alpha took John back into his mouth fully.

John’s endurance should have been longer—it had been when he’d pleasured himself—but something about having this new sensation, having Sherlock mouthing and sucking him with vigor, sent him over the edge in a matter of seconds. When he came this time, he wasn’t dissatisfied in the least: he felt appeased. Even though his fever raged, he felt far more aware of himself and his surroundings. The dizziness was still there, but less… nauseating, and John was able to find his words with much more ease, enough to make full comprehending sentences.

“Fill me up, Sherlock. _Fill me up_.” John pled, drawing Sherlock up and into his chest where he embraced him caringly, legs parting and welcoming Sherlock to lay against him, heated cock pressed alongside heated cock.

“John.” Sherlock uttered above a whisper.

“Let me be your omega.”

“ _You already are._ ” Sherlock huskily confessed and John wrapped a leg around his narrow waist and another under his arm and the side of his chest, exposing his slick-drenched hole.

Sherlock palmed the dampness of John's cleft, fingers finding their way through the crease. John hitched a breath the instant Sherlock fingered experimentally against his hole, and John’s entrance willingly opened. A moment later Sherlock added another and John eagerly swallowed whole. When Sherlock pressed a third, John quaked against him, arms and legs tightening their hold.

“I’m ready. Sherlock... _I'm ready_.”

“You’re sure?” Sherlock had to ask, and John’s omega thrilled by the consideration that his mate gave.

“ _Yes_. I want this."

“Oh, God, John, I want this too!” Sherlock husked, mouthing John’s bond bite. John ridding him of any lingering doubt or hesitation lowered a hand to grab a hold of his cock and guided the head to John’s hole.

“Do it… Doitdoitdoit!” John ranted and let out a piercing cry when with one solid smooth thrust, Sherlock sliced through him.

A sharp pain snared the momentary relief of Sherlock's claim, and John keened noisily. Virgin omegas were much like virgin women; they had similar reproductive anatomy. Only during an omegas heat could an alpha’s sperm reach the omega’s womb and fertilize their eggs. That was why omegas could only conceive when in heat. It was the one time in which an omega’s body opened to receiving fertilization. Omegas, like women, possessed a hymen. It was a mucous membrane that completely covered the opening of an omega’s hole. Only during an omega's heat was an alpha's cock able to penetrate so deep within and tear through the hymen, blood and pain would follow.

“John.” Sherlock cooed, tender kisses peppering along the expanse of his neck, leading up to his cheek before the alpha pulled back enough to stare down at John, palming his face in his hands. John met the soft comforting smile of his alpha, “Okay?”

“Mm.” John hummed faintly. He nodded his head, features tensed, knowing it would be okay soon and focused on breathing in slow measured breaths.

Shutting his eyes, John bumped Sherlock’s nose with his own. John’s hands mimicking Sherlock’s and caressed his head through the blindness of his closed eyes, drawing the alpha closer, and tipped his head back to press soft kisses against the alpha’s nose, brows, forehead, and cheeks before he once again bumped their noses.

“Feel better?”

“Mm.” John hummed again. Sherlock remained deathly still as he’d done when first penetrating the omega, allowing John to make the next move.

“Worthy.” John thought aloud opening his eyes and smiling when Sherlock looked at him with question, “Worthy to be my alpha."

“John.” Sherlock said at a loss for words, instead wedging an arm under John’s upper back and the bed to bring him in a half embrace, his other hand stroking the beads of sweat from John’s forehead.

“Move. Slowly.” John encouraged, lowering his hands to grip to the alpha’s shoulders, holding tightly, expecting the flare of pain that would undoubtedly come.

The pain did come, but it was dull, far less strong than the first penetration. Sherlock pulled back slow, measured and John felt more slickness follow his movement, knowing blood and slick was guiding the alpha’s movement. The slick soothed the soreness and the pleasure gradually strengthened when Sherlock countered and slid back in, just as gently as he pulled out. John lowered his gaze between their closely lodged bodies, and watched Sherlock’s lean pelvis rock back and forth, smooth, cautious.

Even as Sherlock’s breathing intensified, his body trembling from gratification, he never lost himself, his alpha instincts and human sense of logic remaining so intact, it was startling he wasn’t losing himself to the desire of rutting. Then again alpha ruts were far less uncontrollable than an omega heat.

John squinted his eyes shut, feeling the exact moment when pleasure far outweighed the pain and each agonizingly slow thrust after was another jolt igniting his desire, want, and need. A moan laced full of satisfaction ripped out of John, his lips parting to let out broken whines from the back of his throat.

“Faster.” John heaved, nails digging fiercely into Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” John answered the alpha’s hesitation with an experimental and awkward thrust of his own, “ _Sherlock!_ ”

Sherlock grimaced, a mixture of enjoyment and focus, movements amplifying, and with each propel of hips John felt himself curling in on himself, coiling in all the stirring pulses of ecstasy.

“ _Suchagoodalpha, breedingsogood!_ ” John slurred, hands dragging lower to clamp desperately at the alpha’s back, seeking purchase, for something to hold on tightly to and solidify himself. He felt light; he was soaring high, losing himself to the buildup of bliss and knowing that there was _more_.

“ _John_. I feel… I feel like I’m burning.” Sherlock whimpered, piston hips stuttering as he was nearing culmination.

Sherlock, withering, brought John flush against him. John puffed out a heavy breath, his pulsing cock jammed between their bodies, rubbing against their stomachs, thumping harshly between them with each one of Sherlock’s sudden and chaotic thrusts.

Sherlock twisted his hips at an odd angle, curving up and downward in one motion, his massive alpha cock reaching the inner most private of areas within. John heaved laborious breaths, biting deep into his tongue, trying to keep the cries from spilling out when Sherlock massaged it… a place within him that brought wholesome rapture. Thrashing his head back against the pillow, John sobbed boisterously, clutching to Sherlock’s back frantically, digging his nails in deep and scratched through thin flesh, mewling lewdly.

John convulsed against Sherlock, his inner walls closing around the engorged cock, cinched tight, and sealing him in. Sherlock mouthed John’s neck and shoulder, licking and sucking, and John couldn’t hold it back anymore. So good, everything felt unbelievably good. It was all just too much, and John came, hot wetness shot out of him, spunk splattering between their stomachs. As each pulse of spunk erupted, John became all the more wild and lost, clawing rabidly at alabaster flesh.

Sherlock hissed excitedly and yet John was unable to register it as he withered upon the mattress, Sherlock fucking him through it, through coming, pounding in, _In! In! **In!** again and again!_ Striking that sensitive nerve inside, John was thrilled by the sensations building up, helplessly arching against Sherlock’s chest, in and away at the same time , enjoying the crafty heated tongue carving a pattern along his skin.

“Sherlock.” John said gruffly when the alpha pulled away to meet his stare, hips canting, rocking their bodies against the mattress, assaulting John’s sensitive nerve, overstimulation to the extreme, but John wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to reach completion and mark him wholly and utterly.

Sherlock’s face glowed from heat and sweat, and he wetted his dry lips with a swipe of his tongue. John watched the movement with intrigue. He wanted to feel that tongue against his own, taste the alpha in a way he’d been defiantly refusing himself the chance to. Before John could comprehend his actions, he was palming Sherlock’s neck and yanking him back down so that the tips of their noses brushed against one another’s. Sherlock’s eyes widened, staring in question and nervousness, halting his movements and John whimpered in protest.

“Don’t stop!” John huffed animatedly, lips brushing the corner of Sherlock’s mouth and flitting his tongue, playful and mischievous.

“ _John_.” Sherlock let loose a noise, a pitiful mewl of want and his hips came back to life.

“Good. Good, alpha. Obedient.” John rambled nonsense and absentmindedly rubbed his lips across the edge of Sherlock’s parted mouth.

Close, Sherlock was so close, John could hear it in the way Sherlock’s breathing wisped out of him, how it fluctuated and the short abrupt keening that broke through harsh pants. His pace became short, rigid and uneven.

Looking up at Sherlock, John met the alpha's stare, set a blaze with lust. He roughly glided his tongue over pale pink lips and licked his way in. Fingers rose up to fist in dark curls as John enacted his very first kiss, ever. It was fervid, passionate, and there was sweetness to it, an actual sweetness. Sherlock tasted of tea, biscuits and something else that John could only classify as ‘Sherlock’, and _God_ , was it lovely. This sweetness bled through, and the tenderness Sherlock put into the kiss took John’s breath away—it made him feel… _loved_ , and John’s omega withered away at that very thought.

Sherlock pressed his full weight into John, giving himself fully into the kiss. Invigorated, his hips snapped swift and firm. Sherlock’s lips parted fully, willingly welcoming John’s inquisitive tongue into the warmth of his cavern. A devilishly crafty tongue awaited his entrance and when he readily came, John was ensnared in the sweetest warmth.

One of Sherlock’s hands moved to scrape through his blond hair before fisting a handful of locks to yank John’s head back enough so that he could shove his tongue deep into his mouth and explore his omega completely. John followed him back and lay on Sherlock all the care and enthusiasm that he felt. Sherlock hungrily lapped at the inner core of John’s mouth, tasting with insistence. The untamed beast of an alpha within broke free as Sherlock growled heavily into their kiss, sending a vibration to tickle their joined tongues battling for possession. The kiss hastily altered, growing fiercer, longer, and stronger. John sighed happily, losing himself into the teasing battle of tongues while Sherlock plowed through him. Sherlock’s need for mating was clearly evident, his alpha needed to knot and now. John would do anything to appease the alpha’s instinctual desire for it was his own.

John broke away from the kiss despite the despairing whine of protest Sherlock made and tightened his grip on the alpha, keeping him at bay when he attempted to dive back down and re-enact their kiss.

“Knot me. I need your knot, please, Sherlock. Mark me. Make me yours.” John was hungry for it.

Sherlock’s features softened, almost pained by the omega’s words and he suddenly found himself cradled in Sherlock’s long arms.

“ _Always have been_.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with emotions, the most prominent being that of grief and love.

“Please.” John held Sherlock just as securely, eyes shut as he buried his head in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, nudging the alpha’s scent gland with his nose, and took the rough pounding of Sherlock’s swelled cock.

“ _John_.” Sherlock said when he gave a particularly fierce thrust.

“ _Oh, John_.” Sherlock wetly murmured, diving in to suck harshly on the bond mark.

A meager imitation of a growl broke as Sherlock quivered against him, and it transitioned to an intense whine of absolution, thrusting weakly, spasms rippling through him as he came.

Sherlock rocked forward, pressed his forehead against John’s jaw and hummed hoarsely, mouthing the sweat drenched skin of his neck as he pummeled John’s taunt entrance, shooting load after load deep within the sweltering heat of his channel. Sherlock shuddered with his release, gritting his teeth to stifle back cries, but a helpless whimper slipped out as his cock pulsed and John felt it. At the base of Sherlock's deeply embedded cock something began to grow, pressing at the edge of his rim and further inside of him, expanding inch by inch, making it all the more difficult to breathe.

Sherlock’s girth swelled passed what John thought he could handle and it seemed to only be growing all the more. It first came as a dull throbbing, but several moments later the throbbing became prominent, the stretching of his walls felt all too much to handle, it burned, searing and yet, John’s omega needed this, needed it so much more than anything else.

Knotting was a significant part of heats. Knotting was the insurance that the alpha’s seed would hold, work its way through their omega and fertilize the omega’s eggs. John hummed cheerfully, the serenity of John's features present. Sherlock rose slightly to observe his features for any pain or discomfort. John brought Sherlock against his chest, held him close, and nuzzled Sherlock’s cheek.

“Yes, it’s so good.” The omega within John vibrated with excitement.

“ _John_ … We…” Sherlock broke in, unsure what to say, rut having been calmed with breeding; Sherlock was more aware of everything.

“Such a good, good, good alpha.” John said much like a drugged omega in heat and petted the alpha’s hair overjoyed by the knowledge he’d been claimed fully, bonded, and he would be full of his alpha’s pups, carrying Sherlock's children.

“John.” Sherlock said again, trying to make John understand something that didn’t seem important right now, not at this moment.

John shut his eyes, smile present as Sherlock’s cock gave another jolt within him, shooting more sperm deep inside of him and he knew that those pups would be making their way to his womb, so many pups to carry, John wanted them all.

“John, we need to talk before I—”

“You’re wonderful.” John murmured, eyes opening, half lidded, yet still recognizing the disbelief marring Sherlock’s features, as if the alpha thought it impossible John would think such.

John’s eyes welled with tears, emotions running on a high through heat. Yet... John’s omega needed to get out all the feelings he'd kept within.

“I’m so glad it was you.” John whispered, palming Sherlock’s blossoming cheek. “You are who I choose, damn the arrangement. I would have chosen you willingly, eagerly. I…”

Sherlock was bewildered and pained by his words, but as John began to stutter out his last of admissions his features hardened with anger.

“Don’t say it.” Sherlock's words didn’t match the fierceness of his features, he sounded more grief-stricken than anything else.

“I love you, Sherlock.” John confessed quietly.

Sherlock shut his eyes, wincing at the admission, and bowed his forehead against John’s, their bodies drenched in sweat and sex, but John didn’t mind, their scents mixed well with one another.

“Why did you have to say it?” Sherlock’s voice trembled.

“I do.” John chastely kissed Sherlock’s smooth lips, exhaustion taking hold of him.

Running one hand up and down Sherlock’s tattered back, John twiddled the alpha’s hair with the fingers of his other hand, and he felt himself drift off into a cloud of comfort and peace. John’s caresses dawdled as he settled into a peaceful rejuvenating darkness. The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was a tormented whimper of, " _John..._ "

  



	10. Chapter 10

Through the fog of sleep John felt the dull throbbing of his cock and the contracting of his hole. It filled him with a need unparallel. John wanted, and opening his eyes, sight blurred from the sunlight seeping in the room, he took in his surroundings. 

He lay on his side facing the window of Sherlock’s room. The view carried no interest for him, because his senses took in the deep exhale of breath behind him. Slowly rolling around to face the form before him, John was met by the heartening sight of a slumbering Sherlock. Dark matted tresses were tussled in a mess, and yet John found beauty in it. 

Shifting closer, John threw a leg over a jutting hip and pressed a hand against Sherlock’s lean chest. Running fingers in sparse chest hair, John hummed happily and nosed the alpha’s exposed neck, scenting him.

“Wake up, love.” John whispered his voice hoarse from disuse. 

Sherlock stirred, a hand blindly covered the one stroking at his chest.

“John.” Sherlock rasped.

John watched as long dark lashes fluttered and pale gray eyes revealed themselves, staring at him in a daze, a grin spread over pale lips. John wanted to kiss the hell out of those thin lips, bruise them, claim them as his own, but he wanted to fuck Sherlock more. 

Without warning, John shoved Sherlock onto his back and straddled his waist. Sitting there, he felt the solidness of Sherlock’s cock nudging the cleft of his ass. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock’s eyes filled with anxiety. 

John didn’t want to talk. His body was burning. Without pause, John reached around him, took hold of the alpha’s cock before he guided Sherlock deep within him. 

“Oh.” Sherlock gasped, hands gripping tightly to John’s hips, steadying him as John sat himself astride his cock. 

“Mm.” John shivered, rocking back further, taking in more and _more_ of Sherlock’s girth. 

_So much._

_So full._

_Owned._

John loved it. Loved having Sherlock in him and wondered why he’d waited so long for this. He never wanted to be without him.

“Don’t ever leave me again.” John exhaled a shaky breath, staring down into the vulnerable eyes of his alpha, and hurriedly bent down to kiss Sherlock’s trembling bottom lip. 

“I thought that’s what you wanted.” Sherlock whimpered affectionately caressing John’s sides.

John hushed Sherlock’s pained admission with tender chaste kisses, raining them over Sherlock’s needy lips. Pulling back, he planted his hands against Sherlock’s chest, fingers twiddling and weaving through the soft hair.

He sat heavily; sheathing Sherlock’s engorged cock fully into himself, a strained noise spilling out of him. Needing more, needing to be knotted and stuffed full of Sherlock’s seed drove John’s movements. 

“Sherlock.” John inhaled when the alpha raised his hips up, jostling him, and his fists clamped, gripping at feather-light hair.

Grunting noisily, Sherlock thrust up again, yanking John down with the hold on his hips in the same moment he thrust up and John bounced by the force, delightfully groaning when Sherlock struck that place within. 

“Again.” John breathlessly requested, licking his lip, eyes shut, jaw agape when yet again Sherlock prodded at that wonderful place within.

A pitiful mewl filled the silent room, John hunching over, arousal electrified when Sherlock sprung his pelvis off the mattress, driving powerfully up, springing John _up, up, up,_ again and again. 

“Oh!” John was enthralled, canting his hips in earnest, countering each of Sherlock’s shoves up with one down, and screamed out in utter satisfaction, Sherlock plunging in fully, filling him up in every way he needed.

John was going to come, pre-come generously seeping out, descending down his length while some splotched Sherlock’s flat stomach. John wanted to feel Sherlock’s touch there, he wanted Sherlock to bring him off, feel the roughness of his large hand encircle his stout cock. 

John took hold of Sherlock’s hand and pressed it against his twitching cock. Sherlock, understanding John’s voiceless request, enclosed his hand over John’s cock. John stared down at it, how Sherlock’s hand nearly covered his cock completely, and moaned at the sight, he fit so perfectly in Sherlock’s hand. 

Sherlock compressed his hold, clasping firmly, so securely, and John hunched further, nails digging deep into porcelain flesh when Sherlock tugged up then down, experimentally. 

“So good.” John admired.

Sherlock tugged again, and followed with stroking his thumb over John’s slit, wiping away the pearly white pre-come to use it as further lubrication for jerking John off in firm strokes. 

Biting his bottom lip, teeth digging through, John whimpered helplessly and rode Sherlock with vigor. John bounced up and down harsh and quick, Sherlock grunted with each ruthless slam down and inhaled noisily with each rock up. 

“ _Sherlock_ …” John stammered, face twisting in a grimace of pure pleasure.

“ _My Sherlock…_ ”John came then, words coming out in a harsh puff of air, back arching, with a needy keen.

Hot wetness splattered across pale skin and when John looked down, he found Sherlock’s chest and neck blotched in his come. John moaned weakly, fell back down over Sherlock’s chest, tongue shooting out to lick up the wetness, cleaning Sherlock of his own release. 

Sherlock whimpered pathetically, legs trembling, head thrashing against the pillow under him, his thrusts stuttering as he squirmed.

“Going to… _Oh_ , knot you full. Breed you so well.” Sherlock bleated pitifully, arms wrapping around John’s back, pulling him in a tight embrace.

“ _Do it_.” John croaked and laved up the come on Sherlock’s neck.

Letting out a lewd groan Sherlock came. A rush of heated come flooded through deep within John and as the fullness of come loaded him up, the base of Sherlock’s cock swelled. Sherlock’s knot stretched passed the brim of John’s rim, growing. John hummed contentedly, cleaning Sherlock of the last bits of his release and afterwards John laid comfortably over Sherlock’s chest and held him close.

After several more moments passed, Sherlock carefully rolled them over onto their sides, and John pulled away enough to stare up at the alpha. Sherlock mutely gazed up at him, slender fingers stroking John’s cheek, his touch tender and loving; John’s omega felt comforted by his alpha’s affections.

“I’m going to birth all your pups.” John smiled happily, nuzzling the alpha’s nose playfully.

A noise slipped from Sherlock’s lips, a mixture of a sob and wrecked moan. 

“I’m full.” John grazed his lips again on Sherlock’s cheek, kissing with fervor before pulling away enough to press his forehead against Sherlock’s own and closed his eyes in the beginning of rest. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock uttered with care, arms tightening around him and holding John close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John rested for another hour before the heat woke him again. This time he found himself being held tightly in Sherlock’s arms as the alpha slept. John woke Sherlock with wet kisses along the expanse of his neck, nuzzling his scent gland, before Sherlock spun him on his back and entered his slicked entrance.

Sherlock never touched John’s cock, no matter how much John whimpered and begged, wanting John to come hands free—John did. Heat already doing a number on him, and having gone so long with suppressants made John’s body so much more sensitive. John came, knot flaring, stretching and burning the brim of his hole as Sherlock’s hips did this wonderful swiveling and a millisecond later Sherlock filled him with hot come. Sherlock spurted another load within, keening and filling John up. Jolting pulses of come filled him up to the brink, and fertilizing more of his eggs. 

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, hands stroking at skin, soothing and caring, and John fell asleep once more. During heats omegas bred then slept before breeding once more. Sleeping helped an omega rejuvenate for another vigorous go. Alphas, unlike omegas, did not need as much sleep, so after Sherlock had his fill of rest he’d taken to cleaning them both with wet towels while John slept. But even in his sleep, John felt the alpha rub a damp towel over his body, and he’d momentarily felt refreshed before slipping into a deep slumber.

Whenever John woke from a restful sleep, he found Sherlock wearing a silk blue robe, sitting on their bed and fiddling with his phone, reading something of great interest, reading books, looking over paper work, or jotting down notes. John grumbled with annoyance during these times, because only when John started touching Sherlock would the man realize he’d woken and then the alpha would willingly follow John’s lead. 

One time, John woke to Sherlock speaking on his mobile and felt a sudden rush of jealously. John had then moved to straddle Sherlock’s waist, startling the alpha into silence, his words falling away as he spoke to whoever was on the other line. John then yanked the phone from the alpha’s ear and growled out.

“ _He’s mine_.” 

John powered off the alpha’s mobile and tossed it to the ground before pouncing, sucking possessively on Sherlock’s flushed neck and the alpha whimpered under him.

“ _Yours... God, John. I’m yours!_ ”

John smiled as he pushed open the alpha’s silk blue robe and sat himself on Sherlock’s long, hard cock and rode him, wild, unbidden and zealously. Sherlock squirmed under him, head thrashing against the pillow, broken pleading whimpers ripping past thin pale parted lips. 

“I love you.” John would gasp out as Sherlock struck his pleasure point.

“I love you.” John would growl possessively when forcefully slamming himself down on Sherlock’s cock.

“I love you.” John would whimper pitifully when Sherlock towered over him, embracing him in a secure hold and knotting him.

“ _I love you_.” John would whisper, cradling Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissing him tenderly on his lips as they held each other, Sherlock spurting out load after load, knot sealing them together.

Each admission of love brought with it pained distressed moan, whine, and a whimper of ‘ _John_.’

John was taken in every position possible, positions he didn’t even believe were achievable, and towards the third day of heat, John realized Sherlock had searched through his phone for such positions and began actively doing the same. Each time Sherlock came, each time John was knotted, John let out a contented sigh, smiling peacefully, his omega appeased by the vigorous copulations and each loading of sperm speeding through him and overwhelming his womb. 

_Pups_

_Pups._.

_ **Pups! Pups! Pups!** _

It was all John’s omega could think about. All John wanted. Procreation was a dire necessity during heat. His whole mind was full of such thoughts and each time he was knotted the heat dwindled, his skin felt less hot, and John was more grounded and in control of his senses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock wanted to help, that was all he had wanted to do. Help ease the fever of John’s heat. Sherlock hadn’t realized it would require so much. He knew so little where copulation was concerned. Sherlock had no sexual life and as John clearly wanted nothing to do with him; he’d never sought to further educate himself on the matter. Sherlock spent the time it took to get from New Scotland Yard’s headquarters to Baker Street, researching through his mobile omega fevers in relation to omega heats. He’d blushed profusely as he read over certain treatments an alpha could implement to ease an omegas heat. It was the only way Sherlock could calm John’s fever and keep it from danger zone, and Sherlock was prepared to help John in any way he could.

Still, Sherlock hadn’t anticipated John wanting more. Never would he have thought John would beg for his knot. Or that John would be so consumed by lust he’d dominate him. God help him, Sherlock loved it! Loved being dominated, manhandled and having John stare at him with such want, but he’d known it was wrong. It was so wrong of Sherlock to allow John’s heat to control his actions and he’d tried, attempted to pull away, to have John see reason. 

John’s scent was so intoxicating and he ignored every one of Sherlock’s protests until Sherlock could refuse John no longer and gave in. Embraced John in all the love and care he possessed, showering affection, and remained in control even through the raging hormones and need to rut. He wanted to be gentle. Sherlock wanted to show John that even in such a dire situation, even when an alpha was supposed to be most dominating, he could be kind and temperate. 

Instead of dominating, Sherlock was dominated. Sherlock let John guide their movements, decide what they would do. Then John said those powerful words and Sherlock felt great grief. It was tormenting each and every time John said those words to him because he couldn’t believe them. How could he when John was feverish with heat and knew that he was no good for giving in and consummating their marriage during a confusing time for his omega?

How could Sherlock say no when John asked him for pups? 

When John grabbed his hand and pressed it against the omega’s flat belly and begged to be filled with Sherlock’s pups, something deep and primal was released. The very thought of John wanting to carry his pups, raise a family together… _Good Lord_ , the thought of John being so full, round, _heavy_ with his pups… Sherlock’s alpha practically rolled over on its back, exposed its underside and bayed for it. 

John’s belly was flat and hard now, but in several months it would be so round, and John’s face would be pudgy, and he’d smell heavily of Sherlock and kin, and _sweet baby Jesus_ , Sherlock could orgasm at the very idea!

Sherlock didn’t want to think anymore. He thought more than enough as it was. Now he just wanted to let go of all that was inhibiting him from living in the moment. When they’d finally united, when Sherlock was finally within John, he felt a burst of relief and pleasure. The scent of blood stung his nostrils, and Sherlock’s stomach flopped with the very notion he’d hurt John. Yet Sherlock’s alpha rejoiced, because John _waited _for him, was _his alone _. Sherlock knew he was possessive, but it felt wonderful knowing he wasn’t the only one, that they’d both waited for this very moment to share together.____

____The next two days were wonderful, _so wonderful_. John would wake calling out to him, rough hands stroking at his skin, heated lips searing his in a lustful passionate infusion of want. Each time, John would beg for his pups Sherlock whimpered out a vocalization of agreement. Sherlock filled John each and every time, feeling so complete by the end of it, and would cradle John against him as the omega drifted off. _ _ _ _

____Sherlock waited for his knot to recede and then he’d withdraw from a slumbering John, retrieve a wet towel and cleaned them up, before slipping back into the bed and occupying his time with work while John rested._ _ _ _

______ _ _

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John woke shivering. God, it was so cold. As another shiver rocked through him, his eyes fluttered open and he was momentarily blinded by the light seeping through the window. The soft chirping of birds filled John’s ears, followed by a not so-soft-snort.

Blinking slowly, John tossed his head to the side and found a matted mess of jet-black curls. Raising a hand, John rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to clear away the blur and grit hindering him of sight. Lowering his hand over his chest, John lowered his gaze from the tussled mess of dark curls and to the toned alabaster back before him, milky skin tattered and reddened where claw marks bloomed. 

_What…_

John’s brows furrowed in confusion, staring back down at his hand over his bare chest, his breathing stilled. He was bare… much like… John glanced back over to the form lying next to him; teeth worrying his bottom lip, John tried to make sense of his disordered thoughts.

He could recall falling asleep after coming to terms with the truth of Sherlock’s rejection. Sherlock hadn’t wanted to spend his heat with him… Then… Then… John woke soaked in slick and he’d… 

_What did he do after?_

A phone call… He’d called… Harry and… 

Yes… Harry came and they’d left to Sherlock’s flat… There was an old woman… Sherlock’s landlady… John couldn’t remember much, but he did remember she’d been kind. A nice woman, but Sherlock wasn’t home and… and his fever was horrible. He was delirious, slipping in and out of awareness. 

Heat burned his cheeks at remembering how he’d requested to use Sherlock’s room and he’d… Many, _many_ times to himself, alone, feeling so alone and then… Then…

Sherlock… He remembered Sherlock’s smell, how intoxicating it was and how he’d knelt before him and then he’d… he’d… pounced and been… Sherlock… Sherlock to him…

As heated as John’s face became, the blood swiftly drained and he was left feeling cold, cold and empty.

John… John had said… 

_Oh… My… God… No. **Nonono!** ___

___What the fuck!_ _ _

__John didn’t!_ _

___He did not!_ _ _

__John couldn’t breathe._ _

__What the fuck was he thinking? Why the bloody hell had he gone looking for Sherlock? His omega instincts! It was all because his omega was a slut for a knot that he’d…!_ _

__Oh, God. John wanted to throw up. Yup… He was going to retch!_ _

__Before John’s head caught up with his body he was scrambling out of the bed, clumsily tripping in the mess of slick/come drenched sheets and landing hard on the ground. A groggy moan erupted from behind him, on the bed, and shifting of sheets followed. John hastily snatched up a piece of cloth under him and ran out the room, hastily opening the doors around him, trying to locate a restroom, grateful when one of the first doors he opened led to the bathroom. He entered it, slammed the door behind him, snapped the lock into place, and sat heavily on the shut toilet._ _

__John was trembling with nerves, holding tightly to the cloth in his hands. His knees bounced up and down rapidly, images flashing in his mind, one after the other of him and Sherlock… The things he’d done… Said… The _things_ he’d eagerly let Sherlock do to him. _ _

__John’s vision blurred and a pained moan ripped from out of him. Tears bursting through and John sobbed hoarsely, burying his face against the cloth, trying to muffle his whine of pained realization._ _

__He… He’d prepared himself for his heat, knowing what he’d have to endure for his family, but never had he thought his omega would betray him like it had. He missed Sherlock, John could honestly admit it to himself, but he’d accepted that his alpha abandoned him. It was something he could tolerate. He thought it might give him more time to accustom himself to his role in their marriage, another three months of prepping himself for the time he’d have to embrace it._ _

__Now everything felt so much more difficult to bare. His omega took hold of him, needing to be bred. Because of his omega’s attachment to Sherlock, John had… John hated his omega instincts! He hated himself!_ _

__Gasping out of recognition what this meant, John planted a hand against his flat stomach._ _

__John was fertile… Sherlock was virile… He’d been bred numerous times. Pups… Oh God, John was pregnant._ _

__More tears fell at this realization. John wasn’t angry or upset with Sherlock. Why would he be? It was he who’d entered Sherlock’s private residence and waited for him. He’d been the one to ignore Sherlock’s rebuff and taken what he’d wanted and Sherlock had appeased his needs. Because his omega chose Sherlock as his true mate, he was unable to endure the heat without copulation. If Sherlock hadn’t bred him, John’s heat would have steadily risen into the danger zone and he would have died. Sherlock helped him through a difficult situation._ _

__Hatefully rubbing the tears away from his face using the cloth, John stared at the white wall across from him in acceptance. He was a soldier. He could handle this like a man. No omega emotional fits. He was Captain John Hamish Watson. An omega, but he would _not_ let this destroy him. He’d fulfilled his purpose for his family. He was the insurance that they would never need to have a worry again. At least John could do this for them._ _

__John knew it shouldn’t bother him… That he shouldn’t even be contemplating this right now… But still… As embarrassing and degrading it was for his omega to admit to loving the alpha… Sherlock… In the _two days_ of John’s heat never… Not once… Ever admitted to loving John back—It shouldn’t matter. John didn’t love Sherlock. It was his omega saying that. His omega might love Sherlock’s kindness, his affections, humor, intelligence, and the fact that he was a wonderful provider to them, but that was just his omega… _NOT_ John. He might have missed Sherlock, learned to enjoy his company and realized he wasn’t a bad man, but that _in no way_ meant John loved him._ _

__~~How could John love a man he’d been forced to marry?~~ An alpha… That was right… How could John love an _alpha_ he’d been forced to marry? Sherlock was an alpha. _Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha-alpha-alpha-alpha!_ Alphas were the enemy, never to be trusted. John couldn’t let his guard down… No matter how nice of an alpha Sherlock appeared to be._ _

__An abrupt knock on the door startled John from his thoughts and he blushed mortified when he’d jumped at the noise. Soldiers didn’t scare easily. What was wrong with him?_ _

__“J—John?” A soft whisper of his name came from beyond the door._ _

__John couldn’t speak. The hand palming his stomach balled into a fist, while his other hand subconsciously brought the cloth against his chest._ _

__“I—I…” Silence followed._ _

__…_ _

__.................._ _

__…_ _

__“ _John_.” Sherlock whimpered._ _

__John choked on spit and shoved the cloth against his mouth, forcing back the needing whine that wanted to be let out. John’s fucking omega instincts. He rose to his feet, pulled back the shower curtain and turned the switch on, the shower head spraying water noisily. John sat back down on the toilet and stared at the bathroom door, knowing the alpha stood just outside of it._ _

__John waited. Waited for Sherlock to say something else, but he never did. Instead, moments later, John heard the sound of a door closing and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding._ _

__Bowing his head in his hands, the soft cloth tickling his skin, John knew he was a horrible person. He shouldn’t be acting like he was… Not to the person who had saved his life. Still… Sherlock had just been fulfilling his part of their arrangement._ _

__Those betas had been right. John was a slut for an alpha’s knot. An incubator, birthing machine… In nine months from now John would birth his first litter and then begin the cycle again._ _

__Although Sherlock was a kind man and gave John a content life, that’s all it would be between them. Sure, by law omegas were to be married off to worthy alphas, but it never meant that an alpha had to be exclusive. Omegas were known for being fiercely monogamous and devoted to their mated partner; this made them the perfect mate for alphas who were possessive beings. An omega once bonded with an alpha would be devoted to their mate even if their alpha died. Omegas mated only once. Alphas on the other hand… Alphas were not instinctually monogamous and were known to mate freely._ _

__There had been many unfortunate omegas that’d been mated to such an alpha. While the omega remained devoted to their alpha and birthed them countless pups, their alpha freely took on beta lovers. It wasn’t uncommon for an alpha to have a lover while being married to their omega._ _

__John mournfully realized that the cloth he’d taken in his rush out of the room was the alpha’s silk robe and unthinkingly raised it to his face, inhaling the alpha’s aroma._ _

__Omegas were flawed creatures, weak and stupid. John told himself countless times he wouldn’t become like those pitiful omegas who’d bound themselves to their alpha, but he’d failed. Since the very moment Sherlock had bitten him on their wedding, John’s omega had chosen Sherlock. It would only ever be Sherlock for him, never would another appeal to him. He’d never stray._ _

__Sherlock however…_ _

__In time Sherlock would desire someone to love… Why would John even be in his radar of choices? John was a weak omega. John was average looking, a househusband. Sherlock didn’t know of John’s combat skills. Never seen what a strong Captain he’d been. John wasn’t like that now. Sherlock had only seen the broken and needy omega John could be._ _

__So of course Sherlock would tire of him and look for a strong beta lover and… John would have to bare it. Tend to their children, home, and know when Sherlock was not with him that he’d be… with a beta._ _

__A shrill whine burst forth and John sobbed at the very idea of it. John’s omega destroyed his heart with such damaging thoughts._ _

__John was pathetic, broken, weak, and unappealing. Sherlock would want more and when that time came, John didn’t know what he would do. God, help him when that time came, because John didn’t think he could endure it._ _

__

____

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually John showered, and being that the only clothing he had was Sherlock’s silk robe, he’d wrapped it around himself and exited the bathroom. Taking a deep breath for courage John opened the shut door at his side, entered and found the alpha waiting for him.

The sheets of the bed had been pulled off and only the mattress was visible. Sherlock sat on it wearing a black suit and off white fitted button up shirt. His once tussled hair was less of a mess, yet still seemed like it could use another comb through. John noticed rather quickly how pale Sherlock was and swallowed thickly, a bout of nerves taking hold of him, but he was determined to see this through.

During his shower John had been contemplating their situation and how best to make it through the awkwardness that would undoubtedly follow.

Sherlock stared at John pleadingly, yet his features were set in a grimace, seeming to come to some conclusion by the way John kept his distance. John leaned back against the door frame, never fully entering the room and folded his arms over his chest, looking down at the robe to be sure he’d sealed it fully and revealed little skin other than his exposed legs.

“You once said we didn’t need Mycroft as our mediator, that if I wanted something, I only need ask you.” John recalled.

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, lips parting as if to say something, but then he shut them and nodded adamantly. A spark of hope twinkled in Sherlock’s eyes. 

“I would like it if we…” John bowed his head and stared at his feet, unable to look in Sherlock’s eyes when asking him this.

“I would like it if we could live here instead of the estate.”

Silence came and remained for far longer than John was comfortable with and he hesitantly raised his head to stare up at Sherlock once more and found him a glow.

“Together?” Sherlock needed to clarify this matter.

John nodded, eyes lowering to stare at the alpha’s shirt, knowing that blemished alabaster skin lay under the fine clothing. 

“ _Yes_.” Sherlock whispered in acceptance and John didn’t need to look up to hear the smile in his words, instead John focused on what else he wanted to ask of Sherlock. 

“I want to be able to go around town without a bodyguard.”

“Yes.”

“I want to work for a living. I’ll still care for our… pups, but I want a profession, purpose.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want Mycroft as our mediator anymore. Tell him to back off.” 

Sherlock chuckled gently and nodded enthusiastically. 

“Absolutely.”

John smiled at Sherlock. Nervously unwinding his arms to palm his stomach and inhaled erratically.

“I—This… Our pups… I’m okay with it.” John mumbled timidly. He didn’t want Sherlock to think he resented their pups. He might hate himself for what he’d done, but he’d never hate his pups.

“I’m glad.” Sherlock ducked his head shyly, staring up at John bashfully.

The doorbell rang and John tensed.

“It’s Mrs. Hudson. I asked her to go shopping and buy some clothes for you as we aren’t the same size and you won’t be able to wear my robe forever.” Sherlock explained, rising to his feet and hesitantly moved around John, taking great efforts not to touch him, and headed for the door. 

John followed after him, tightening the robe subconsciously when Sherlock opened the door and in bustled Mrs. Hudson, carrying several shopping bags in hand.

“Heavens, Sherlock, you could have phoned me sooner you know? I was absolutely worried about you two!” Mrs. Hudson began, setting a stack of bags on the table in the living room. 

“I was rather preoccupied.” Sherlock answered, smirking smugly across the room and to an unsettled John. 

Even with their distance, John flushed, looked intently to the ground and wrapped his arms around himself shyly. What was this feeling in his chest? He shouldn’t be feeling this way… His heat was over and his omega was in the background now, it was just him and yet… Sherlock smiling at him like that made his chest swell and butterflies flutter in the pit of his stomach. 

“ _Oh_ , look at you lovebirds. John is such a dear, Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson cooed stepping near John and pinching at his cheek.

John couldn’t say much, just ducked his head with embarrassment, and dug through the bags instead. Giving himself something to do and a way out of speaking because he wasn’t sure how his voice would sound if he tried to speak then.

A black coat, beige jumper, gray/black/green checkerboard dress shirt, dark jeans and brown loafers were in the bags, all surprisingly his size. In the last bag was a cane that was of a similar design as the one he had left at the estate. Although he hated the thing, it would make moving around the home easier as limping with no sense of support was not the greatest of feelings. 

“How did you know my size?” John asked of Mrs. Hudson.

“Sherlock told me.” Mrs. Hudson answered, already moving about the home, cleaning it up as much as she could, but the place was a right mess.

John looked up at Sherlock in wonder. Sherlock really thought about everything. John’s omega whined within, _‘such a good provider’ _.__

__Coughing to clear his throat and dislodge such thoughts, John retrieved the cane and bags of clothes, excusing himself momentarily to change. When he’d done so, John reentered the living area, he found Sherlock waiting for him while Mrs. Hudson tidied up the kitchen. John broke the momentary eye contact with Sherlock and used his cane to move about the room, surveying the place with a fine eye. Without suffering from a fever, he could actually take in the place._ _

__It was rather nice._ _

__“Very nice, indeed.” John admired the flat._ _

__“Yes…” Sherlock said, taking several steps towards John. “I think so. My thoughts precisely.”_ _

__“It’ll be great soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out.”_ _

__“Oh...”_ _

__John didn’t realize Sherlock wanted to keep all the junk scattered around the place. He’d thought… Oh, God. Sherlock was put off now._ _

__“So this is all…” John started awkwardly._ _

__Sherlock slipped away and hastily put his knickknacks into boxes, tidying the flat as much as he could. Mrs. Hudson stared on thoughtfully and John felt like a complete ass._ _

__“Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit.” Sherlock slammed a screwdriver into the wood of the mantle, pinning a stack of papers there._ _

__“That’s a skull.” John noted morbidly, pointing to it with his cane._ _

__“Oh, friend of mine.” Sherlock rushed, wavered, glanced back to the skull in thought before meeting John’s gaze once more, apprehensively._ _

__“When I say friend…” Sherlock moved again, seeming on edge, his words swift and uncertain, almost as if he were nervous and John couldn’t understand why?_ _

__Well… Maybe he could. They’d just spent two days mating, but John wasn’t so sure it was because of that._ _

__“What do you think? There’s another room upstairs if you’ll need two rooms.” Mrs. Hudson thought aloud, fleetingly looking from one to the other._ _

__“Of course we’ll be needing two rooms.” John answered, his brows furrowed in contemplation. It was obvious John was an omega bought by the Holmes’; if John could have his own room he’d take it._ _

__Peeking over to Sherlock, he swallowed thickly seeking approval for his desire. Sherlock’s features were tensed, but then he spun around from John, picked up a stack of books and began filing them away on a shelf._ _

__Sherlock wasn’t saying anything… so it was apparent Sherlock didn’t mind and John was grateful for this._ _

__“Oh don’t worry, there’s all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner next door’s… _got married ones_.” Mrs. Hudson pacified, whispering the last bit, and stepped into the kitchen where she began chastising, “ _Sherlock_ , the mess you’ve made.”_ _

__John felt overwhelmed with all the changes and limped over to a red chair before him, patting a British flag throw pillow into place._ _

__Sherlock was busy setting up his laptop and John grinned fondly._ _

__“I looked you up on the internet… when you were away.”_ _

__Sherlock seemed mildly surprised and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning to face him._ _

__“Anything interesting?”_ _

__“Found your website, the ‘Science of Deduction’.”_ _

__“What did you think?” Sherlock seemed proud of his work._ _

__John scoffed and Sherlock’s smile dimmed, a frown set in place._ _

__“You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb?”_ _

__“Yes. If I didn’t know you, I would still be able to read your military career in your face and leg and your sister’s drinking habits on your mobile phone.”_ _

__Sherlock’s voice took on a deeper octave and John fought the vibrations that strummed through him._ _

__“How?”_ _

__Sherlock grinned before twisting to stare out the window. A moment later Mrs. Hudson entered, reading worriedly from the newspaper in her hands._ _

__“What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that’d be right up your street. Three exactly the same.”_ _

__“Four.”_ _

__John’s ears perked up when Sherlock leaned close to the window and stared out at something with great fascination._ _

__“There’s been a forth, and there’s something different this time.”_ _

__“A forth?”_ _

__The sound of someone running up the flight of stairs leading to their flat was heard before an older man entered the open door and stepped in the flat._ _

__“Where?” Sherlock demanded in form of greeting._ _

__“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” The man offered._ _

__John sat up in his seat._ _

__“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”_ _

__“You know how they never leave notes?”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“This one did... Will you come?”_ _

__“Who’s on forensics?”_ _

__“Anderson.”_ _

__Sherlock tossed his head to the side, displeased._ _

__“Anderson won’t work with me.”_ _

__“Well he won’t be your assistant.”_ _

__“I _need_ an assistant.”_ _

__“Will you come?” The man asked, fraught for the assistance._ _

__“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.”_ _

__“Thank you.” The man nodded heavily, as if greatly relieved._ _

__The gentleman turned to leave and as he did so, his eyes flashed over John for a moment in inquiry, but he never detoured and was bounding down the stairs seconds later. The moment the door downstairs shut, John noticed the edges of Sherlock’s lips twitching. A broad smile plastered over the pale man’s face before he jumped in the air and began shouting out exuberantly, “Brilliant!”_ _

__John’s eyes widened with amazement._ _

__“Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note. _Oh it’s Christmas!_ ” _ _

__Sherlock retrieved his coat and sped towards the door._ _

__“Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late. Might need some food.”_ _

__“I’m your landlady, dear, not you housekeeper.”_ _

__“Something cold will do.” Sherlock persisted._ _

__John tried to follow the conversation that had occurred with the strange man from earlier, and all he could formulate was it was something about a case… suicides… four._ _

__“John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!”_ _

__John frowned. He didn’t much like this househusband thing, but Sherlock had given him permission to do with his life what he will. Still, how could Sherlock leave him so suddenly after what they’d shared?_ _

__“Look at him dashing about. My husband was just the same, but you’re more the sitting down type, I can tell. I’ll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg.”_ _

__“Damn my leg!” John exclaimed in one moment of pure resentment and frustration, startling Mrs. Hudson._ _

__“Sorry. _I’m so sorry_. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing…”_ _

__“I understand, dear. I’ve got a hip.”_ _

__“Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.” John sighed._ _

__“Just this once, dear. I’m not your housekeeper.”_ _

__“Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got them.”_ _

__“Not your housekeeper!” Mrs. Hudson sang._ _

__John flipped open the newspaper and was astounded to find the man who’d just stepped foot into their flat was the NSY’s Detective Inspector Lestrade, currently in charge of investigating the string of suicides._ _

__“ _You’re a doctor_.” _ _

__John lowered the newspaper and glanced up, dumbfounded to find Sherlock standing near the open door of the flat. He’d come back. Why?_ _

__“In fact, you’re an army doctor.” Sherlock furthered his contemplations, slipping on his leather gloves._ _

__John felt he knew where this was going and stood to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane he answered._ _

__“Yes.” John cleared his throat._ _

__“Any good?”_ _

__“Very good.”_ _

__“Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?” Sherlock drawled, taking slow steps towards John._ _

__John felt the air in his lungs dispel in a hoarse, “Yes.”_ _

__John liked the way Sherlock was looking at him and he couldn’t stop himself from inhaling deeply when he stood a mere foot away. Sherlock was drenched in his scent as he was drenched in Sherlock’s. It made him feel all kinds of warm and gooey in the best of ways._ _

__“Bit of trouble too, I bet.”_ _

__“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime, far too much.”_ _

__“Want to see some more?” Sherlock teased in that deep resonance and John felt close to an orgasm._ _

__“Oh God, yes.”_ _

__Wicked smile across his face, Sherlock whirled on his heel and strode out the flat, John following closely after him._ _

__“Sorry Mrs. Hudson, I’ll skip the tea, off out.”_ _

__“Both of you.” Mrs. Hudson observed despondently, seeming to have wanted the company._ _

__Sherlock stopped, turned and made his way to Mrs. Hudson._ _

__“Impossible suicides, four of them. There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!” Sherlock animated, holding her shoulders firmly and pressing a kiss to her cheek before releasing her._ _

__“Look at you, all happy. It’s not decent.” Mrs. Hudson scolded, smacking him on the back playfully._ _

__“Decent,” Sherlock snuffed, “The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!”_ _

__John felt his heart pounding in a way it hadn’t for ages as Sherlock called out for a taxi and John happily kept near to Sherlock’s side—always at Sherlock’s side, it felt as if this was where John belonged._ _

  



	11. Chapter 11

The drive was long and quiet. John focused his gaze on Sherlock at his side fiddling with his phone. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice for a rather long time.

“Okay. You’ve got questions.” Sherlock remarked suddenly.

John fired one off at once. “Yeah, where are we going?”

“Crime scene. Next.”

“Who are you? What do you do?”

“What do you think?”

“Your family said a private consultant, but I’d say more of a private detective—”

“But.”

“— _But_ the police don’t go to private detectives.”

Sherlock smiled.

“I’m a consulting detective—only one in the world. I invented the job.”

“Yes, Mycroft said as much. What does that mean?”

“Means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”

“The police don’t consult with amateurs.” John snickered. 

Sherlock wasn’t pleased with John’s condescending tone and shook his head slightly at the insult. 

“I said I didn’t have to know you to know about your military background and your sister’s drinking habits.”

“Yes. How would you know then?”

“Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. You’re face is tanned, but not tan above your wrists—You’ve been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp’s really bad when you walk, but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic, and your therapist’s diagnosis is quite right. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic—wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq.”

“You said I have a therapist.”

“With a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist. Then there’s your sister: I saw your mobile was on the living room table.”

“Hmm?”

Sherlock retrieved the phone from out of John’s pocket and began fiddling with it in front of him.

“Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. From the way you dress normally, one can infer you wouldn’t waste money on this; it’s a gift, then. Scratches—not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s, easy. You know it already.”

“How can you possibly know about the drinking?”

“Shot in the dark. Good one though. Power connection, tiny little scuff-marks around the edges of it. Every night they go to plug it in to charge, but their hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone, never see a drunk’s without them. There you go, you see, you were right.”

Sherlock handed John back the mobile.

“I was right? Right about what?” John snorted with disbelief and amazement, glancing at the phone that could seemingly tell another person about himself.

“The police don’t consult amateurs.” Sherlock grinned, smug. 

“That… was amazing.” John spoke in awe. 

“Do you think so?”

“ _Yes_ , of course it was. Extraordinary, it was _quite_ extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off.”

John chuckled heartily and Sherlock’s smile was endearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Extraordinary as your deductions might have been, there is still something that remains out of your reach.”

“What’s that?” Sherlock’s curiosity sparked.

“You wouldn’t have been able to infer Harry was a sister and not a brother. The engraving, _Harry_ Watson. Not even you could have figured Harry was a nickname for Harriet.” John grinned.

Sherlock stride came to an abrupt stop, dumbfounded. 

“Brother?”

“Look, what exactly are we supposed to be doing here?”

“ _Brother!_ ”

“No. Seriously, what am I doing here?”

As they neared the crime scene a slender woman was there to greet them.

“Hello freak.”

This woman and John weren’t going to get along. A growl choked deep in his throat, restrained, just barely. 

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock said with purpose.

“Why?” The woman sighed with annoyance.

Sherlock eyed her with just as much exasperation. 

“I was invited.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I think he wants me to take a look.” Sherlock sniped snobbishly.

John smirked; he liked the liveliness in Sherlock… Where had this alpha been hiding?

“Well you know what I think, don’t you?” The woman sneered.

“Always, Sally.” Sherlock answered, raising the partition of tape over his head and moving beyond her. “Even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

John moved to go under the tape, but this _Sally_ raised a hand to stop him.

“Uh, who is this?”

“Colleague of mine—Dr. Watson.”

_Colleague?_

John gapped at Sherlock. Was that what he was now? A colleague? 

“Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend.”

“A colleague? How do _you_ get a colleague? What did he follow you home?”

“Would it be better if I just waited…?”

“No.” Sherlock then raised the tape up high for John and he hesitantly moved under it.

“Freak’s here. Bringing him in.” Sally spoke in her radio.

They hadn’t even stepped one foot into the building when a lanky man exited, glaring hotly at them.

“Ah, Anderson.” Sherlock greeted, friendly enough, though the coldness in his eyes demonstrated to John that Anderson was no friend. 

“It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?”

“Quite clear. Is your wife away for long?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.”

“Your deodorant told me that.”

“My deodorant.” Anderson deadpanned.

“It’s for men.”

“Well, of course it’s for men, _I’m_ wearing it!”

“So’s Sergeant Donovan.”

Sherlock took a heavily obnoxious inhale and John smiled with amusement.

“Ooh, I think it just vaporized. May I go in?”

“Now look. Whatever you’re trying to imply…”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m sure Sally came around for a nice chat and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.”

Sherlock walked passed Anderson and Sally and entered the building. John spared a moment to glance at the two, then down to Sally’s knees before entering the building himself.

When they entered, a cluster of people were bustling about the room, chatting to one another. Sherlock walked over to DI Lestrade and the older man glanced over to John in question.

“Who’s this?” Lestrade asked Sherlock.

“He’s with me.” Sherlock answered simply, removing his leather gloves in place for latex ones. 

“But who is he?”

“I said he’s with me.” Sherlock spoke just a fraction away from a growl

Lestrade arched a brow incredulously.

“Aren’t you going to put one on?” John asked Sherlock, slipping on a jumpsuit.

“So where are we?” Sherlock asked of Lestrade and John took it Sherlock wouldn’t be wearing one. 

“Upstairs.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John found that the man he’d been acquainting himself with for the past two months, the stranger he’d been forced to marry, his bonded mate, was undoubtedly the most bewildering and fascinating of people. Sherlock, who’d seemed so docile, one to simper and open readily for John was someone else entirely when he was on the job.

During Sherlock’s observation of the poor woman in pink, he’d been deliberate, calculating, and scrutinized even the smallest of details—things no one in their right mind would notice. It was all so fascinating. John Watson found himself captivated in sheer awe. His husband was bloody brilliant! When Sherlock swept passed him down the stairs, John couldn’t help but to smile with pride. 

Only his smile quickly faded when he realized Sherlock had deserted him. Left him alone at the crime scene to figure out his own way back to the flat. Bloody git.

John wasn’t sure where he was exactly or how to get himself a cab, but noticed Sally nearby and began speaking with her, only to be thrown off by what she’d said.

“He doesn’t have friends. So who are you?” 

Who was he to Sherlock? Sure, legally he was Sherlock’s husband and mate, but… Sherlock introduced him as a colleague. Did that mean all he was to Sherlock… all he could ever be was an obligation, an incubator to carry litter after litter, birthing more Holmeses into the world? Right… By tradition he was just an omega, married and mated, but nothing more than the means of ensuring his alpha’s line continued. 

John finally understood who he was… and yet… John couldn’t stop himself from stuttering out, “I’m… I’m nobody. I just met him.”

John’s stomach lurched in the pit of his stomach at the blatant lie he’d told. His omega growling within, frustrated at himself denying the truth of his bond, but John couldn’t clear it up now. Not after saying it.

“Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.”

John felt affronted.

“Why?”

“You know why he’s here? He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there.”

“Why would he do that?” John was alarmed by Sally’s declaration. 

“Because he’s a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored.”

“Donovan!” Lestrade called out from the entrance of the house.

“Coming,” Sally called out to Lestrade and began making her way over to him. 

Glancing back to John as she continued her path to Lestrade, Sally asserted, “Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.”

John couldn’t say anything if he wanted to, all he could do was watch as she left. What would she have said if she knew who John really was? Why did it bother him so much what other’s thought about Sherlock? He hardly knew the man and after today, he didn’t think he knew as much as he’d thought he did. 

It seemed like there was this whole different side to Sherlock that had been hidden from John till now. After the past few days, John wasn’t even sure what to think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John tried to let go of the fact Sherlock left him at the crime scene. It did seem he’d been lost in thought and as it were, John wanted some independence; though, so much so fast felt a little unsettling. When Sherlock took John to an Italian restaurant in order to look out for their suspect, he was reminded of the one romantic candle lit dinner Sherlock prepared for him and how it’d gone horribly.

Moments after they’d sat down, the owner of the restaurant came out and cheerfully greeted Sherlock. Apparently, the food Sherlock ordered for them came from this restaurant and the owner was a past client of Sherlock’s. Sherlock must have told the owner they were married, because he’d generously offered to serve them free of charge and kept referring to John as Sherlock’s date. 

“On the house, for you and your date.” The robust owner said.

“Do you want to eat?” Sherlock asked of John. 

“I’m not his date.” John avoided Sherlock’s question to clarify his relationship with Sherlock. If Sherlock wanted them to pretend to be colleagues, then John would uphold his wishes, but when Sherlock’s smile fell, John began to wonder if he’d said something wrong. 

The owner didn’t seem to hear him, believe him, or care and said, “This man got me off a murder charge.”

“This is Angelo.” Sherlock jumped in.

Angelo stretched out a hand and John shook it to be polite. 

“Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.”

“He cleared my name.” Angelo beamed.

“I cleared it a _bit_. Anything happening opposite?”

“Nothing.” Angelo answered, pausing to glance over to John and added, “But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.”

“You _did_ go to prison.”

“I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.”

John flushed from embarrassment and anger, grumbling out to Angelo as he walked off, “I’m not his date!”

Sherlock lowered his gaze from his menu and set it down on the table.

“You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.”

John bit the inside of his cheek when Angelo returned moments later and set a glass bowl containing a lit tea-light on the table. He smiled goofily up at John and gave him the thumbs-up before turning and leaving them alone once more.

“Thanks!” John griped, huffing out a breath of aggravation and decided to focus on calming his nerves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Halfway through his food, John glanced to the alpha. Sherlock stared out the window and wordlessly drummed his fingers on the table; it was rather irritating. Recalling Sally’s alarming observation of Sherlock had John contemplating who his husband was really.

“Do you…” John abruptly started speaking, Sherlock’s fixed stare out the window broken then, and pale blue eyes scanned his features, attempting to read his unvoiced thoughts. 

“Do I… what?” Sherlock exhaled.

“Do you have friends—people, you know, people you like, people you don’t like…? Girlfriends, boyfriends…”

“Yes, well, that’s all rather dull.” Sherlock said with a flourish of his hand and stared back out the window.

John sensed the topic wasn’t one Sherlock desired and that he should stop it there. He should allow this particular conversation to end where it had, but… John needed to clarify, clarify a paining thought within.

“You don’t have a girlfriend then?” John timidly asked. 

The silence that followed sent John’s heart pounding, hammering against his ribcage and he worried Sherlock might notice. He didn’t, thankfully.

“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.” Sherlock mumbled and didn’t meet John’s eyes; he continued to stare out the window. 

“Mm.” John wanted to feel relieved by Sherlock’s words, yet he didn’t. Why wasn’t he reassured?

“Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend?” 

They were married, but John also knew it was a possibility. Maybe Sherlock already had someone else and John hadn’t noticed. Maybe as John had remained alone at the estate Sherlock had been seeing another.

John wasn’t prepared when the alpha’s cold eyes snapped in his direction and he gave him a sharp look. John inwardly flinched away from _that_ piercing look. John shouldn’t have asked. Sherlock wasn’t pleased with him. He’d done wrong. Of course Sherlock didn’t want to talk about such things with him. John should just bear it in silence.

“Which is fine, by the way.” John stuttered, losing his nerve. 

_It was not fine…_

“I _know_ it’s fine.” Sherlock hissed and John flashed a weak smile.

“So you’ve got a boyfriend then?” 

John needed to shut up! It was acceptable for alphas to have more than one lover, Sherlock even knew this, but he couldn’t! John needed to know if his alpha was like so many others.

“No.” Sherlock deadpanned, face void of emotion.

John forced his smile to remain, only feeling slight relief. For the time being Sherlock was his, _only his_. He might not love Sherlock, but his omega did and John had grown attached. 

“Right. Okay. Fine. Good.”

John forced himself to eat the rest of his meal, unable to speak anymore, and still felt Sherlock’s eyes on him, staring suspiciously. John felt momentary reprieve when Sherlock’s attention refocused back out the window. 

Something about John’s questions seemed to have sparked a thought within Sherlock’s mind. Soft blue eyes snapped to John, startled. 

“John, um…” Sherlock began inelegantly, “I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I understand your interest, I’m not really looking for any other partner, I’m not that type of alpha…”

“No.” John interrupted, pausing briefly to clear his throat, “No, I’m not asking. No.”

Staring unmoving at Sherlock, he tried to demonstrate understanding as well as acceptance.

“I’m just saying… it’s _all_ fine.” 

John didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but now that they were, he needed Sherlock to understand that although he hated the hypocrisy of their marriage, if… in the future Sherlock wanted to be with another—although, it didn’t feel okay, he would accept it. 

Sherlock said nothing, just stared at him for several long moments, the edge of his mouth twitched as if to frown, yet in the end he nodded. 

“Good.” Sherlock spoke, though John sensed that there was more unvoiced in the abruptness of his words and how saddened blue gazed back out the window and to the bustling city. 

Great. Everything was just _great_ , John morbidly thought to himself. He’d just given his husband permission to do what every other alpha did. What the hell was John going to do if Sherlock took him up on his offer and took lovers… _Dear God_ , what if Sherlock brought his lovers to their flat? John… could attempt to bare the infidelity, knowing he could never give the alpha the affection he needed, but… 

“Look across the street. Taxi.” Sherlock broke the silence and reminded John what their purpose was.

Twisting in his seat, John looked out of the window.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’d just arrived back at 221B, breathing erratic, uneven from all the running they’d done. Smile upon his face, John hung his jacket on the wall, and Sherlock draped his coat on the bottom banister of the staircase.

“Okay, that was ridiculous.” John said as they leaned against the wall, side by side, staring with amazement at the other.

Trying to catch his breath, John felt helpless when his stomach knotted and a swarm of butterflies quivered within his stomach. Time seemed to pass by slowly and the longer John stared into Sherlock’s eyes the more he lost himself in them… They looked at him in a way that… Had Sherlock always looked at him like that…? 

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” John rasped, unable to break eye contact with Sherlock, not when Sherlock looked at him in _that_ way; it left him with questions.

“And you invaded Afghanistan.” Sherlock teased, smiling slyly. 

John broke and laughed, enthralled by Sherlock’s eccentric sense of humor. Sherlock chuckled heartily, eyes sparking with mirth. 

“That wasn’t just me.”

Sherlock chuckled harder at John’s words, eyes glistening happily.

“Why aren’t we back at the restaurant?”

Sherlock’s laughter dissipated and he flicked his hand dismissively.

“Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.”

“So what were we doing there?”

Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat. 

“Oh, just passing the time.” Sherlock said, staring at John with _that_ look again. 

What did _THAT_ look mean?

“And proving a point.”

“What point?” John was curious.

“You.”

Sherlock turned away from John and called out towards the door of Mrs. Hudson’s flat, “Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.”

“Says who?” John snipped. Sure he wanted his own room, but he couldn’t take the upstairs room, Sherlock had to, his leg wouldn’t let him.

“Says the man at the door.” Sherlock said while staring at the front door.

John turned to look at the door and in that moment someone knocked three times. Turning back to Sherlock in wonder, he was met by the alpha’s kind smile. Staring at him for several long moments, unsure what he was playing at, John finally made his way down the hall and answered the door. 

John never noticed how Sherlock leaned against the wall and blew out a heavy breath as he opened the door and was greeted by a smiling Angelo standing outside.

“Sherlock texted me.” Angelo said, explaining his presence, and smiling broadly he held up John’s cane for the omega to take.

“He said you forgot this.”

John stared in awe. His cane… 

John took the cane and managed to stammer out, “Ah…” before looking back at a proudly grinning Sherlock back in the hall.

Turning back to Angelo, John expressed his gratitude with a breathless, “Er, thank you. Thank you.”

Shutting the door after Angelo’s departing form, John turned hesitantly began walking towards Sherlock without the use of his cane. He felt like he should say something. Thank Sherlock maybe, but words choked up in his throat and before he could even try to force them out, Mrs. Hudson came bounding downstairs. 

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes were wild, shined in the light, and her features were set in with worry as she wavered out, “Sherlock, what have you done?”

“Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock tensely asked.

“Upstairs.”

Sherlock didn’t need any further explanation, within seconds he was racing up the stairs and to their flat. John didn’t even think as he ran after him. Opening the door, Sherlock strode into the living room. 

John bulked when he found D.I. Lestrade sitting comfortably in the armchair facing the door. A swarm of officers bustled about the flat, riffling through Sherlock’s possessions, and when John glanced over to Sherlock, searching for answers, he found that icy blue glared down at Lestrade. 

John almost felt a need to hold Sherlock back when he stormed for the D.I. 

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.”

“You can’t just break into my flat.”

“And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t _break_ into your flat.”

“Well, what do you call this then?”

Lestrade smugly glanced over to his fellow officers, then back to Sherlock and said innocently, “It’s a drugs bust.”

John felt white hot rage boil in the pit of his stomach. How dare this man break into their flat and accuse his alpha of… _His alpha?_ … John shook his head. Now was not the time to self-evaluate. 

“ _Seriously?_ This guy, a junkie? Have you met him!” John defended.

Sherlock stiffened at John’s words before he spun and strode towards him. As he neared him, John noticed Sherlock biting his bottom lip nervously. 

“John…” Sherlock voiced, stern.

“I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.”

“John, you probably want to shut up _now_.” Sherlock hissed uneasily. 

John’s omega whined urgently for himself to back down now, sensing the alpha’s displeasure at his words, but John didn’t want to—This Lestrade was going too far. 

“Yeah, but come on…”

John’s words fell apart then, looking at Sherlock’s straight face, void of emotion, but for his eyes. His eyes seemed to say something, but John couldn’t quite figure out what, until it hit him suddenly. He knew that look well; in Sherlock’s eyes was shame. 

“No.” John couldn’t believe it. Not Sherlock. No. Not someone so intelligent. Not his alpha. _His… again?_

“What?” Sherlock snapped, seeming unable to say anything else, not pleased with John’s reaction.

“ _You?_ ”

“Shut up!” Sherlock snarled angrily, noticeably upset with John’s damning judgment. 

Sherlock broke their stare then to glare back at Lestrade, “I’m not your sniffer dog.”

“No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.” Lestrade retorted, nodding towards the kitchen.

“What, An—”

The doors to the kitchen slid open to reveal more officers searching the place. Anderson was one of them and turned to face the living room before he mockingly greeted a fuming Sherlock. 

“Anderson, what are _you_ doing here on a drugs bust?”

“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson answered eagerly.

“They _all_ did. They’re not strictly speaking _on_ the drugs squad, but they’re very keen.” Lestrade explained.

The group’s eyes focused on Donovan as she made her way over to them, holding in her hand a glass jar with two small unidentifiable round objects.

“Are these _human eyes?_ ” The disbelief was clear in her voice.

John stared on grimly as Sherlock shouted, “Put those back!”

“They were in the microwave!”

“It’s an experiment.” Sherlock sneered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John needed to hurry. He wasn’t going to make it. _God_ , he had to make it. Sherlock needed help! John burst through a door and wildly stared ahead of himself—finally finding Sherlock, but not quite.

Across the wide paned windows he stared across another building, through the classroom window and to his alpha and their killer. Sherlock seated across from the mad cab driver staring from a bottle in his hand to another on the table before him. 

Releasing a pained holler of grief, John cried out, “ _SHERLOCK!_ ” 

It was useless. 

Horror, fear, grief wracked through him and John retrieved his gun hidden under his coat. Thankful, so very thankful he’d decided to head back to the estate after Sherlock deserted him at the crime scene and retrieve a suit case worth of clothing and his well cared for gun. 

As Sherlock and Jeff raised their respected pills closer to their mouths, John focused on his breathing, calming himself. Slow measured breaths filling and exiting as he raised his gun, aimed, and fired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock couldn’t stop from contemplating Jeff’s last words and the mysterious shooter, the chill of London’s winter breeze chilling his skin. Sherlock almost wanted to reject the hideous orange blanket a paramedic lay over his shoulders.

As Lestrade made his way over to him, Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Why have I got this blanket?”

“Yeah, it’s for shock.”

“I’m not in shock.” 

“Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs.” Lestrade joked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not amused. 

“So, the shooter. No sign?”

“Cleared off before we got here, but a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…got nothing to go on.”

Sherlock can feel the mystery of this case call out to him. He loathed the inbetweens of cases and he could absolutely see himself solving this one in no time.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes, even as a hint of a smile twinkled in them, “Okay, give me.”

Standing up from the ambulance, Sherlock began his deducing, “The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon… That’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatized to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service…” 

Sherlock’s words fell away because in the very instant he turned his head to look out at the swarm of onlookers, he found John standing outside of the police tape and... _Oh, John._ The alpha within him growled predatorily, his omega… _So strong, so good, all his._

“And nerves of steel...” Sherlock falters once more, the innocence in John’s stare unfurls something warm and gooey within.

_Strong, but sweet, tender._

Sherlock doesn’t know why, but the memories of John hotly whispering words of love reiterate themselves within his mind and his alpha whimpers in need. Sherlock wanted to just go to John now, lay passionate kisses and ravish him. No. He couldn’t do that. No. John didn’t want Sherlock like that, not now that his heat had broken. 

When John looked away from his stare, Sherlock wondered if the omega felt embarrassment by the look of hunger clearly written on his face.

“Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.”

“Sorry?” Lestrade was at a complete loss.

“Ignore all of that. It’s just the, uh, the shock talking.” Sherlock detoured and ignoring Lestrade’s need for understanding he hurriedly made his way over to John.

“Where are you going?” Lestrade demanded to know.

“I need to talk about the—the rent.” Lying wasn’t something Sherlock had issues with, but this, pretending that all John was to him was a colleague and flatmate, filled him with so much grief—yet it was what John wanted. John didn’t want him, and John didn’t want Lestrade and the others to bombard him with questions, and Sherlock knew it would prove to be stressful for his omega. 

“But I’ve still got questions for you.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop himself, and spun to face Lestrade to say shortly, “Oh, what now? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket!” He even waved the edge of the blanket a bit for good measure.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade yelled after him. 

“ _And_ I just caught you a serial killer… more or less.”

Lestrade was quiet for a moment, gratitude in his eyes and finally said, “Okay. We’ll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice and swiftly made his way towards John. Removing the blanket from around his shoulders, Sherlock bundled it up messily and discreetly tossed it into the open window of a police car before he ducked under the dividing tape and stood before John.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Um, Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn’t it? Dreadful.”

John felt his heart race as Sherlock remained still, staring, but never the less still.

“Good shot.”

John was a horrid liar, but nevertheless, he tried, “Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.”

“Well, _you’d_ know.”

John attempted a straight face, much like the ones Sherlock would pull from time to time.

“Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.” Sherlock deliberated seriously.

John still couldn’t speak—something was choked up in his throat, words like, _‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ ‘Don’t be an idiot next time, think about our pups,’ ‘Can I hug you?’_ Good, Lord what was John thinking?

Clearing his throat, John averted his gaze from Sherlock’s, unable to look at him any longer, and stared around them, not comprehending anything he saw.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked and John knew it was a strange question to ask, being Sherlock was the one who’d been in immediate danger, but he knew why the alpha was filled with concern. John was pregnant and the stress from this night alone could cause a strain for him.

“Yes, of course I’m all right.”

“Well, you have just killed a man.”

John felt guilty that it didn’t even phase him; pulling that trigger had felt right, because he’d ensured Sherlock’s safety.

“Yes, I…” John’s words fell apart as Sherlock evaluated him closely, and he realized Sherlock was deducing him.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” John smiled and Sherlock’s gaze never wavered, scanning his features for something.

“But he wasn’t a very _nice_ man.” John blabbered and Sherlock’s contemplating stare lightened as he’d come to his conclusion—that John was truly alright—and he nodded in confirmation.

“No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?”

“And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.” John felt butterflies once again flitter around in his stomach.

Sherlock stared at John, utterly surprised, and chuckled, delighted by John’s quick wit. Wordlessly, Sherlock spun, and walked away from the bustle of police officers and reports, John at his side.

“That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!” Sherlock added in, thrilled when John burst out into a fit of giggles and Sherlock smiled warmly at him.

_God_ , if they were alone, Sherlock might just yank him into his arms and hold tight, never wanting to let go, but then again, John might not like that. 

“Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene! Stop it!” John chastised.

“You’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame me.” Sherlock pouted, absolutely amused.

“Keep your voice down!” John hushed his beaming husband as they walked passed Sergeant Donovan.

“Sorry, it’s just…um, nerves, I think.” John explained to a curious Donovan.

“Sorry.” Sherlock said.

Clearing his throat once more, John felt as if he could attack Sherlock right then.

“You were going to take that damned pill, weren’t you?”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and met John’s gaze. 

“Course I wasn’t. Biding my time. Knew you’d turn up.”

John frowned and grumbled, “No you didn’t. It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re cleaver.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” John huffed.

Sherlock felt a smile tug at the ends of his lips. God, he’d been right, John Watson truly beguiled him. He was just so… So perfect for him and John had yet to see it. See that no matter how different they were from one another there was just an instinctual bond between them. Sherlock loved John. _Dear, Lord_ , Sherlock loved John completely. He just needed to be patient and wait for the right time to confess. The one thing he couldn’t risk was overwhelming John.

Schooling his features, attempting to refrain from lunging at John and claiming those wonderful full lips, Sherlock asked, “Dinner?”

“Starving.” John smiled.

“End of Baker Street, there’s a good Chinese, stays open till two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.” Sherlock noted.

  



	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock never considered John would reject him. He had wanted John for so long, fallen for him over the years of secretly spying on him. He should have known better. How could John fall for him so quickly, knowing next to nothing about him? Sherlock had thought… expected that once John realized he would care for him, John would love him in return. He’d been a fool for thinking it possible. 

One thing Sherlock took great comfort in was that they were now fully bonded and his sweet beautiful John was carrying his pups. Sherlock never thought himself a family man, but over the years, thoughts of John being the omega to his pups became a more intriguing idea. His alpha instincts sparked with such thoughts and practically salivated with the want of it. It would be so wonderful to have John—the one person that managed to break through his barriers and take full possession of his heart—be his husband, and father of their children. Sherlock’s perceptions changed, alpha instincts and love helped him develop a new desire, and that was to create a family with John. 

Sherlock didn’t want to be domineering, nor did he want John to feel pressured now that he was expecting. A thought still plagued him daily, John would soon be showing. Omegas birthed far more pups than betas and it was normal for them to become quite heavy and fast. Most omegas were placed on bed rest the last two weeks before their expected delivery to ensure both the omega and pups remained unharmed. As the months progressed John would become all the more tired and weak, the weight of carrying so many pups would have a toll on his body. Sherlock wouldn’t leave John’s side during that time, he’d be sure to care for him even more so during that time, not wanting to risk his omega and pups health. 

Omegas began to show earlier than most, because of the large litter they were able to carry. Omegas typically began to show at one and a half months and Sherlock knew at that time, there was no way he could hide the fact John was pregnant with his pups. He truly didn’t want to hide it. It gave his alpha great pride to know his omega would swell up, but Sherlock also worried how John would feel. 

John didn’t want him. Sherlock didn’t like the fact NSY would know of their true relationship. He worried about how they would respond. It was no secret that although they appreciated his talents of deduction, they weren’t friendly. Sherlock stressed over how they would treat John because of Sherlock’s relationship with them. Would they be judgmental because John was an omega and Sherlock’s husband? Would they say hurtful things and further destroy his fragile omega? John was physically strong, even mentally so, but not where his status was concerned. It was clear that John hated his status, felt helpless because of his identity as a Captain and omega, and he was suffering from an identity crisis. 

Sherlock didn’t want to risk John’s pregnancy from the stress of the NSY questioning and possibly damaging words and so he’d lied. Said that John was just a colleague and it was painful to deny John’s position and importance to him, but he’d done it to protect John. Now, however he’d been placed in an awkward position. Once John started to show, there would be no hiding it, they’d discover the truth. 

The best thing for Sherlock to do in this situation was to keep John away from the NSY, just until he figured out how to go about things. Maybe he should tell Lestrade first. Lestrade was normally a reasonable man and he wasn’t vindictive, not like the other officers, never had been. Lestrade was a safe option and he could keep the other officers in check, especially Anderson and Sally. That could work.

However, there was that dreaded night at Angelo’s restaurant which told Sherlock exactly how John saw him. The fact John thought him to be like so many other alphas… That Sherlock would have a lover even when they were married… It hurt. 

Didn’t John understand? Couldn’t he see that all Sherlock wanted was him? It was apparent he’d been right, John didn’t remember that night they’d spent out in the snow, nor Sherlock’s words. 

Sherlock had never, not even once, felt attracted to another individual. His sexual drive had only ever been spurred by John. Before he’d scented John through the towel he’d stolen, he’d thought something was wrong with him. John… _God_ , John awoke something within and made his heart swell. 

The constant burning in his chest, the warmth that streamed through him—all of it was because of John. Sherlock could never want anyone else, and this was why it’d pained him greatly when John had more or less implied Sherlock was allowed to seek out another. 

Sherlock had nearly slammed his fist against that blasted table and screamed, _‘I don’t want someone else!’_ He’d restrained his rage, just barely, not wishing to startle John. He didn’t want to give John another reason to fear him. 

Sherlock couldn’t very well tell John he’d loved him since he was a child. He couldn’t explain that for him it was just John and there could never be anyone else. He just couldn’t. Sherlock also didn’t want John to think he was like so many other alphas, that he wanted mistresses, because he didn’t. 

_“I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I understand your interest, I’m not really looking for any other partner, I’m not that type of alpha…”_

It was the only thing he could think to say. _‘Being married to his work’_ was another way for him to cut that thought from John’s mind, to make him see the impossibility of Sherlock being in another relationship when he was dedicated to his profession. Though, after, Sherlock felt like a complete ass, because in the very same sentence he’d devalued John’s presence. Nevertheless, this was better; John could take comfort in knowing he wasn’t like other alphas, that he wouldn’t hurt John in that way.

Sherlock wanted to be with John and no one else. If John never learned to love him… At least he’d still be his husband and they’d have a family. If that was all John could give him, Sherlock would happily take it. At least John would be his family. Sherlock would love and protect John for the rest of his life, give him anything and everything he wished for. Sherlock would strive to make John happy in this arrangement, guiltily knowing he’d gained more from it than John. 

John wanted to roam the city without the watchful gaze of a bodyguard and Sherlock quickly consented. True, the bodyguard had been assigned to protect John before the bond was complete, but now that it was, there really was no need for it. They were completely tied, bound. 

John wanted purpose, a job, and Sherlock bowed down graciously. Omegas once married off predominately stayed at home; their single duty was to care for their home, children, and alpha. Sherlock wanted more for John. If John wanted to work, he wouldn’t stand in his way. 

It had taken several job interviews, most of which Sherlock couldn’t help interrupting with texts. Feeling lonesome and needy, but John only ever replied after he’d finished his interviews. Eventually, John found a job at a clinic and Sherlock felt somewhat dismayed he wouldn’t see as much of his mate. Sherlock accepted it though; if it made John happy that was the only thing that mattered. 

The hardest of things to allow was separate rooms, but John wanted it and he’d bitten his tongue in acceptance. But… _God!_ Why couldn’t John give him this one thing at least? Was it so terrible for them to share a room? It wasn’t like Sherlock would ever force himself on John. It was just that, Sherlock felt so... peaceful when embracing John, scenting him, and falling asleep hearing John’s calming breathing. 

Sleeping in separate rooms was God-awful. In the end Sherlock wandered out of his room, up the stairs leading to John’s. Knocking softly and receiving no answer Sherlock would enter and the omega would already be fast asleep. 

Sherlock would stand off at the side of John’s bed and like a ghost watch as John slumbered before moving to seat himself on the edge of the mattress. He’d raise a hand to hold one of John’s limp ones and lay his upper body next to John’s and shut his eyes for long moments in time, never quite falling asleep. He’d inhale John’s scent in deep breaths and nose the omega’s shoulder gently. 

John was typically a hard sleeper once he truly fallen into a deep state of REM. It would take a lot to wake him; his dreams were so strong most nights that Sherlock never felt worry he would wake. Knowing he couldn’t remain beside John forever, Sherlock would release John’s hand, rise from the bed and go back to his own room. He would lie in his bed, shut his eyes and curl close to his pillow, imaging it was John; Sherlock would embrace it and fall into a deep sleep appeased to at least be marked with John’s scent. This strange sleeping ritual became a regular routine for Sherlock and it seemed to be the only thing that helped him get any rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John never thought this living arrangement would turn out so wonderfully. It was rather great really. Whenever John wanted to go out alone, do whatever he wanted, he could. He’d felt such freedom, no longer under the watchful eyes of the Holmeses.

John found himself a job at an overworked clinic, but it was better than being a househusband. It gave him a sense of purpose and he enjoyed helping others. 

When John arrived home he’d find Sherlock performing an experiment of some kind, playing his violin, or working on a small case to pass the time, and he’d order take out or make them something to eat—but mostly take out, as John didn’t feel like he had the courage to look through the refrigerator, always nervous what he might find beyond it. There was that one time he’d opened the refrigerator and was met by the sight of a human head… _Human head!_ That nearly had him retching on the kitchen floor. 

Sherlock treated him well enough, always inquiring if there was ever anything John required. Most times, John said there was nothing he needed, but when he did need something, Sherlock was always quick to acquire it for him. 

A week and a half after his heat, Sherlock and John sat across from one another eating breakfast in comfortable silence. John was pleased that Sherlock was actually eating the eggs and bacon he’d prepared for them. 

“John…” Sherlock began. 

“Hmm?” John was bemused that Sherlock stared at him apprehensively.

“My parents would like it if we would attend their New Years Eve celebration.”

“At the estate?” John clarified uneasily, not liking the idea of going back there, especially if there was going to be a party.

Sherlock’s lips pursed and he nodded his head in confirmation.

“Oh.” John frowned.

“W—we don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’ll come up with an excuse.” Sherlock abated.

“No… Let’s go.” John sighed with defeat. If they didn’t go, the Holmeses might come to visit them. John knew they should have met up with Sherlock’s parents after they’d consummated their marriage and the Holmes’ returned from their trip. They’d worry for John’s wellbeing, now that he was expecting.

John had hoped they’d spend their New Years Eve like they’d spent their Christmas, in their flat, alone in each other’s company. They hadn’t exchanged gifts, but John prepared them a nice steak salad, decorated the flat, giving it a Christmassy feel, and Sherlock played several festive pieces on his violin. They’d spent the later part of that evening sitting side by side on the couch watching, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’. 

John had began dozing off towards the middle and later that night woken to find an infomercial on and that he’d somehow fallen asleep with his head resting on the peacefully slumbering Sherlock’s shoulder. John flicked off the television and hesitated on whether he should leave the sleeping Sherlock for his room. In the end, John curled onto the couch, resting his head on a throw pillow placed alongside Sherlock’s lap and had fallen back to sleep.

“Okay. I’ll let them know we’re coming.” Sherlock smiled shyly.

John nodded in acceptance and returned the alpha’s smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The party was unpleasant. The very second they’d entered John was overwhelmed by Mrs. Holmes. She’d made a beeline towards him, through the horde of guests, and embraced him in a bear hug, congratulating them and babbling a mile a minute about planning John’s baby shower. Mrs. Watson arrived just as Mrs. Holmes touched his flat stomach, laughing jovially, heartened she would soon have loads of grandbabies.

John didn’t know how to respond and stared at his mother, looking for help. She wasn’t any better, blubbering like a fool, wailing excessively. John frowned when she’d showered messy kisses to his face and another hand planted itself on his stomach. 

_Jesus, he wasn’t even showing yet!_

Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson were cheerful over the good news, but thankfully didn’t feel the need to touch John’s _nonexistent belly bump_. Harry stood near their father and was currently glaring daggers at Sherlock, the alpha didn’t seem to care nor notice though. John’s frown strengthened; because of him Harry didn’t like Sherlock. He’d felt slight guilt for that, but she was the only person he could ask for assistance at that time. He’d first thought of calling Sherlock, but the alpha had made it clear he didn’t want him, so he really hadn’t thought Sherlock would answer his call if he even tried to contact him.

Sherlock stood at John’s side, on edge, eyes glued to both of their mothers pawing John’s belly, almost as if he didn’t much like anyone laying their hands on his omega. John almost laughed at the thought, but he didn’t have much time to react before Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Watson were dragging him through the throng of guests, introducing him to members of the Holmes family. Nearly all, John loathed upon meeting. They referred to him as Sherlock’s omega rather than using his name.

_The pricks_. 

John, nevertheless, attempted to remain civil. Sherlock followed after them for a time, trying to talk their parents into letting John rest, but they’d been adamant that John socialize as he hadn’t during their wedding. 

In the end, Mycroft arrived and leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear, whispering something before Sherlock followed after the displeased gentleman. John watched, irritated when Sherlock and Mycroft left him alone with the nutters and disappeared behind a door. 

John was promptly spun on his heel and led towards Sherlock’s Finnish cousins—they were horrid. The worst by far. They’d actually asked Mrs. Holmes his fertility score. 

The night seemed to go by so slowly. Eventually Harry stepped in and snuck John out just as Mrs. Holmes’ great aunt entered and everyone was momentarily distracted. John then led Harry out to the yard and the two recalled every one of the dreadful members of the Holmes’ family. 

“ _Oh,_ but that Francesca Holmes was a real character, who brings their dog to a New Year’s party? Guess we know who she’ll be kissing at midnight.” John laughed heartily and Harry snickered with amusement, nodding adamantly. 

“I know, right!” 

“Thank you.” John said, appreciative.

“For what?”

“Getting me out of that hellish party and for… Well helping me during my heat.”

Harry nodded, brows furrowing in question. John knew she wanted to understand that day, but John couldn’t seem to summon up the courage to tell her.

“John…” Harry began and he knew the question was coming.

“It was a lover’s tiff. All couples have them. It’s okay now.” John finally said. 

Harry didn’t speak for a long while, staring with deliberation, but in the end she gave in. 

“I should go back. I’ll keep them distracted. Come when you’re ready.” 

Harry turned back in the direction they’d come from. John smiled grateful; a sense of relief filled him as he watched after her departing form.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John felt great appreciation for Harry, sure she could be a real tosser when drunk, but otherwise she was a good sister. Harry was there for him when he’d been hazed at school. Even though Harry attended an alpha school, most days she’d ditch early just so she could greet John as he got out of his own school, ensuring any of the beta bullies who sought him out would stay away when sensing her presence.

John thanked her each and every time she’d done it, but always felt guilty when they arrived home and their unaware parents grounded her for ditching. Telling their parents what was happening to him wasn’t worth it. His mother would become an emotional mess and his father would be overwhelmed by the stress of it all. They’d tried, so, so, so many times to get John’s school to do something about the bullying, but it never amounted to much. John couldn’t allow his sister to continue to be disciplined by their parents and at last convinced Harry he was okay. That he could take care of himself. Harry reluctantly agreed, but only if John promised to let her know when it became too much. 

John hadn’t wanted his family to know the severity of his bullying, but some days it became too much and he’d returned home with noticeable cuts and bruises, or the school called to inform his parents he’d been severely hurt. His parents hadn’t known what to do, they’d talked about homeschooling, but John refuted their desire. He hated the pricks at school, but he hated it even more that he lived a sheltered life because of his omega status. If he was homeschooled than he’d never really have a reason to go out. It was his one time for socializing, and there were still _some_ friendly betas at school. 

John could recall how his parent’s were reluctant in allowing him to continue going to school, especially after his first concussion, but John was adamant he could take care of himself. He couldn’t, but he’d learned how best to cover the cuts and bruises; concussions and broken limps were less easy… 

It had been unbearable most days, the cruelty of the betas, their strength—John had tried. God knows he’d tried to defend himself from their rock-like fists, but he was only one omega against a group of strong betas. 

Sometimes, John wondered if he should listen to the betas. Was death really better than being an omega? John had never thought himself weak-minded or suicidal, but as the beatings became more frequent and brutal, his mental sureness faltered. 

John began to wonder… _Maybe_. He was only sixteen, at this rate he was sure if he didn’t do it, the betas would. John really had no future set out for himself. The moment he’d fully matured his parents would contact his intended’s parents and the wedding preparations would begin. Then what? John would be confined to his alpha’s home, bred and birth litter after litter. Was that really a life? Was that really worth living for? 

_No_ , John told himself. This life wasn’t worth living. Being bullied, forced to marry a cruel alpha, and then being raped for the rest of his life and giving his tormentor children wasn’t living. So, John had decided then it would end. He began to weigh his options and came to his decision one evening as he and Harry drove around town. Staring out the window at St Bart’s Hospital’s rooftop, John decided that would be how he ended it.

Then something strange happened… Arriving at school the next morning, John wasn’t greeted by his bullies. John went to his classes and stared curiously at the empty seats of his tormentors. It was later that afternoon that one of his instructors told him to go to the office. Soon after arriving, the secretary led him to the principal. Sitting across from his principal, John had been informed that the students who’d been harassing him were expelled and that legal action would be taken against them. 

John stared at the annoyed grimace on the man’s face, in disbelief. So many times had his parents pled with Mr. Porter to take action on the boys tormenting John, but he never did. These specific boys came from wealthy families and John just knew they’d bought the principle’s favor. The most Mr. Porter had ever done was send them to detention, and that was only when there had been more than a handful of witnesses to see the bullying inflicted. John left the principal’s office in a complete daze. 

Even now, John could never explain what had happened. John wandered further from the estate, not understanding where these thoughts came from and strolled through the gardens, losing himself further in his contemplations. 

That day… That specific day, John had planed everything out. He’d lied to his parents that he had rugby practice after school and learned the bus route leading to the hospital. He’d written a note and stuffed in his pocket, they’d find it with his body explaining everything.

Only now that the bullies were gone, John started to hesitate. Maybe this was a sign that things could work out. Things would get better if John just remained strong. Maybe there really was an angel out there keeping watch over him, protecting him, and if he just stuck through it, he’d only grow stronger and more confident in himself. So, John decided to hold off on those thoughts, to work harder to strengthen himself and get through whatever hellish pain came his way.

John seated himself on a cemented bench, overlooking the beauty of Sherrinford’s garden. Crossing his arms over his chest, trying to keep warm, John looked up at the full moon, smiling softly to himself. 

_Sherlock…_

Sherlock wasn’t a cruel, evil alpha. John knew this with certainty now. Sherlock wasn’t like what those betas said alphas were. Sherlock was just so… Sighing softly, smile broadening, John bashfully ducked his head. He couldn’t seem to remove the smile nor the fluttering in his stomach. He might just be a little insane. 

“You’re cold.” 

John snapped his head up and to the side, finding Sherlock standing there, gray eyes scanning his form, concern evident.

“You shouldn’t be out here in your condition.” Sherlock reprimanded, hurriedly breaking the distance between them, shrugged off his coat and without a word wrapped it around John. 

John smiled softly up at Sherlock, wordlessly taking the offered coat, and wrapped it closely over his front, much like a blanket. John had a coat of his own, but appreciated the additional warmth of Sherlock’s, the fact that it smelled of the alpha didn’t even occur to him. 

_Nope…_

Sherlock seated himself beside John, removed his dark blue scarf and wound it around John’s neck. The omega in John cooed happily, _‘Such a good, good, good provider.’_

“Now, you’ll freeze.” John was amused. 

“I only care about you and our pups.” Sherlock answered sincerely, surprising John with the softness and conviction of his words. 

Something in John flickered with life. 

_Sherlock…_

“ _Sherlock…_ ” John whispered weakly. What was he supposed to say to that? God, Sherlock really was kind.

“I’m sorry I left you to endure my family. Mycroft wasn’t at all pleased about being demoted from mediator.” Sherlock elucidated, but ended his words with a smug grin upon his face.

John couldn’t stop the smile from reaching his own lips.

“ _Oh?_ Was he annoyed?” 

“Positively livid.” Sherlock beamed and John snickered uproariously.

The two said nothing for a long while, smiles so wide their eyes crinkled. 

“You’re beautiful.” Sherlock admired, bright eyes softening with fondness and before John had time to respond or react, Sherlock was cupping his jaw, raising his head somewhat so that John met his piercing stare. 

“So _very_ beautiful.” Sherlock murmured distractedly, eyes focusing on John’s lips.

John licked his lips subconsciously and noticed how intensely Sherlock followed the movement with his eyes. The air around them thickened and John shut his eyes at the realization that Sherlock’s alpha pheromones were being released. John wasn’t even sure if Sherlock noticed he was doing it. Sometimes an alpha felt the need to soothe their partner and they’d release their pheromones as a way to calm them. John didn’t really need any soothing, yet still the pheromones relaxed him of any tension that may have existed and he swayed into it. Nevertheless, it was distracting and invoked a swarm of unneeded confusing feelings. 

“ _Stop that_.” John admonished, contradicting his fervor by leaning in close and inhaling heavily of the alpha.

“ _Sorry._ ” Came the contrite apology and the heaviness of alpha pheromones decreased. 

John exhaled erratically and reared his head away from Sherlock’s caress; the intensity of the moment broken. 

“Speaking about mediators… There is something I’d like to ask you.” John started, trying to shake off the momentary weakness of swaying to Sherlock’s alluring alpha pheromones, as if it never happened. 

Sherlock perked, sitting up straight, face tensing in preparation for what it might be John requested of him.

“I…” _God… How did he say this?_ If he asked, it would make it seem as if he were flippant and he really wasn’t; just thinking practically was all. 

“John, whatever it is, you can tell me.” Sherlock sensed his hesitation.

“I… don’t want to pressure you. If you don’t want to… _It’s fine._ I’ll understand. It’s just...” 

_God_ , John wasn’t saying this right. 

Sherlock tensed, a timid smile spreading across his face, and John wondered if he’d deduced what he was going to say.

“ _Oh?_ ”

“I’m an omega and… it is a strong possibility that we’ll have a full litter. The flat is large, but not large enough for us to share separate rooms.”

“You want to share my room. Make yours into a nursery.” Sherlock deduced and John went red in the face by the alpha’s frankness.

“I know I said I want my own room, but… it makes sense to do it this way. I mean, eventually we might need to move to a bigger place as the children grow, maybe then we can have separate—”

“I agree.” Sherlock hastily cut John off, “ _I agree._ ”

“Yes?” John breathed a sigh of relief, encouraged. 

Sherlock noticeably brightened and nodded his head most adamantly. 

John looked down at Sherlock’s coat, smiling tenderly down at it. This was good. It was okay. They’d been sharing a room at the estate before his heat. This would just be the same as that… 

_Wouldn’t it?_

“We should go back inside.” Sherlock heaved a breath of disappointment.

“I can hear your excitement.” John snorted.

“ _Yes_.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood to his feet, a hand outstretched for John to take.

John stared at it momentarily. Sherlock’s hand was large, his fingers slender, pale and inviting. Staring up into the alpha’s vulnerable eyes, John inhaled deeply. Hesitating no longer, he took hold of Sherlock’s hand, rose to his feet, and offered the alpha back his coat. 

John stood silently watching as Sherlock accepted it, slipped it on, and paused when the slender alpha took hold of his hand again. Sherlock didn’t look at him, but even in the darkness of night, with the light of the full moon, John could see the flush blossoming on the silent man’s pale face. 

They began walking back to the estate in silence, and John tucked his head in Sherlock’s scarf still wrapped around his neck and inhaled deeply. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice it, most likely viewing his action as a way to keep his face warm from the night’s cold breeze. 

John didn’t understand when or why, but he enjoyed the alpha’s scent; it was comforting and filled him with tranquility. John’s fingers twitched in Sherlock’s hold when a thumb caressed his knuckles, but even so, he remained quiet. 

_‘God, Sherlock smelled amazing,’_ John thought to himself as they neared the estate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment Sherlock and John reentered the home, Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Watson giggled like schoolgirls asking teasingly what they must have been doing alone for so long. John frowned at the implication whereas Sherlock completely zoned out of the nonsensical prattle.

John really would have loved to join Sherlock in his mind palace, or be drunk through the event, but he couldn’t, not now that he was carrying pups. Instead, John began conversing with Harry, as their conversation continued they moved further away from the rest to have some privacy. After taking several steps away from their parents did John feel a tug on his hand and only then did he realize Sherlock had never let go. John smiled warmly at the alpha and wordlessly tugged Sherlock closer. Sherlock obediently followed John’s guide, stood pressed against his side and stared off lost in thought, though wanting to stay near John as he spoke to his sister. 

When midnight neared, Mrs. Holmes led the countdown and everyone followed. The crowd cheered their happy new years. John watched as couples around them kissed as the clock struck twelve, and he hesitantly glanced up at Sherlock.

Time passed by slowly and sound dulled, his heart pounding against his chest, strumming through his ears. The couples around them ceased their kissing; the Auld Lang Syne song finished and the crowd broke out in joyous chatter. In all that time, John never looked away from the alpha. Sherlock was now in the present, no longer escaping to his mind palace and his face was flushed a pale red as he nervously met John’s stare. 

John wasn’t sure what it had been: the cheerful gathering, the fact he was overwhelmed by their scent, or the adorable shyness of Sherlock, but for whatever reason, John released his hold of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock’s eyes became saddened; he took John’s reaction as a sign of refusal for any closeness. John didn’t think when he cupped Sherlock’s pale face in his hands and raised himself on the tips of his toes. 

Murmuring a soft, “ _Happy New Years, Sherlock_ ,” John then kissed Sherlock sweetly on the cheek, allowing his lips to linger there for a long while.

Sherlock inhaled sharply, a hand unsteadily pressed against the small of John’s back, bringing him closer so that the alpha wrapped him in his strong arms. Then John broke the chaste kiss, landing heavily on his feet and smiled up at the godsmacked face of an utterly bewildered Sherlock. 

John distantly heard Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Watson giggle, having witnessed the display of affection. John ignored it all, suddenly wishing to be gone from all the silly nonsense around them. 

“It’s not good for a pregnant omega to stay up so late. Don’t you agree, Sherlock?” John mused merrily.

“ _What?_ ” Sherlock squawked, at a complete loss.

“Let’s go home. I’m tired.” John snickered; pleasantly surprised he had such an effect on Sherlock.

“Oh… _Oh!_ ”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They arrived back at the flat close to two in the morning and by that point John was so exhausted he’d allowed Sherlock to guide him up the stairs to his room, not wanting to risk tripping and falling. Sherlock had bid John a good night’s rest before leaving and John stared after him until he shut the door.

This was okay. It was time John let go of all the anger and self-hate. Sherlock was giving him back his life, it was time he accept everything. Tomorrow he would start a new life as Sherlock’s omega. John would truly open himself up, truly allow Sherlock in, and validate him as his husband. This was John’s New Year’s resolution. Allow his omega more freedom, accept himself for who he was and accept the goodness that was his alpha. Love may or may not come, but affection, care, friendship already existed and that was _something_. _It was significant._

Lying down in his bed, smiling softly to himself as his eyes fluttered shut and he drifted to sleep, John felt sureness in this.

_Yes, tomorrow was a new beginning. Those miserable thoughts of a confused and frightened omega were of a past that was no more, and no longer would he allow those cruel betas of the past to control his future with an alpha that contradicted everyone of those betas’ depictions. Sherlock was singular. Sherlock was his… Always… Forever… His…_

  



	13. Chapter 13

John woke early the next morning, and readied for the day before heading to the empty kitchen. Not wanting to disturb the slumbering Sherlock, he moved about as quietly as he could and prepared breakfast. It wasn’t a usual occurrence for John to be up before Sherlock, but one he didn’t mind. Sherlock didn’t much like to eat, always finding other things to distract himself with. John didn’t like this unhealthy habit of the eccentric genius, so John made it a point to prepare meals for Sherlock and didn’t give the genius an opportunity to decline.

_Transport be damned, Sherlock would eat what he made him. Period._

By the time he’d prepared pancakes, eggs, bacon, and set two full plates on the table, Sherlock entered the kitchen. His damp hair was combed through, wet locks coiled enchantingly, pale skin glowing beautifully in the gentle lighting of early morning, and earthy sea green eyes lit up when setting sight on John.

“Morning.” John greeted welcomingly and sat himself at the table. 

Sherlock answered with a brief nod and seated himself across from John. As John ate in the comforting stillness, he noticed Sherlock glaring down at his plate, picking at his eggs, tossing it around. Forking a mouthful, Sherlock raised it partly, pausing for long moments as if lost in thought. John was perplexed, and he nearly jumped, startled, when Sherlock slammed his fork on the plate; the clatter of metal a shock in the stillness. Sherlock’s piercing eyes meeting his gaze with purpose.

Still… Sherlock said nothing, but he stared so intently that John didn’t have to be an expert in deducing to know Sherlock really wanted to ask him something.

“Yes?” John whispered shakily. 

Sherlock’s stare never faltered. John’s eyes narrowed in when he saw Sherlock swallow thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. A thought occurred to John, and he nervously sucked in his bottom lip to nibble at, suddenly overwhelmed with nerves.

“Sherlock… Is this about last night? I… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” John said, attempting to amend his mistake. 

_What the hell had he been thinking to kiss Sherlock like that? It was on the cheek, but still… He shouldn’t have done it._

“No. It’s not that.” Sherlock lowered his eyes and stared down at his plate. 

“What is it then?” John was close to pleading with the alpha for understanding. 

“John…” Sherlock was still unable to meet his gaze.

“Hmm?” 

“What do you think of me?” A soft breath of a question was released and it took a moment for John to comprehend what had been asked.

“What do I think of you?” John repeated, mildly surprised by the question, it seemed to have come out of nowhere, but then those piercing eyes were looking at him with earnest need, John couldn’t _not_ answer.

“ _Honestly?_ ” John raised a brow, worried his candor might not be accepted regardless of Sherlock’s request. 

Sherlock looked attentively, waiting. 

“Well… firstly, you’re unbelievably perplexing. I can never seem to figure you out. You say one thing, but do the opposite. You have so many dimensions to you; different personas you project to others and all seem to contradict who you are when we’re alone.” 

John paused for a moment, scanning Sherlock’s features, trying to read his reaction, but Sherlock had shut down all traces of emotion, so John continued.

“To your family you’re the stoic strong alpha. To the NSY you’re detached, snide, and cynical. With me… you’re open, vulnerable, passive, generous—confusing. With everyone your brilliance is always present and there is an innocence to it that makes me wonder if you’ve always been so… so uniquely fascinating…and what the hell am I even saying?” John laughed at his own idiocy. 

Warily looking up at Sherlock, John wasn’t sure if he’d said too much. Sherlock’s features were still unreadable. 

“Do you ever see me as a man?” 

John laughed. “You _are_ a man.”

“No.” Sherlock appeared upset by John’s inability to follow his meaning, shook his head hotly and clarified, “Could you ever see me as a man and not an alpha?”

John froze. Sherlock had asked him something similar their first night together as a wedded couple. He could also remember calling Sherlock an animal and felt regret for just how cruel he’d been. Sherlock hadn’t deserved such hostility. They’d just been married and John had spent their first wedding night maliciously attacking Sherlock with the worst of insults. 

Bowing his head in shame, John spoke, regret thickly laced in his words, “ _Sherlock_ , you didn’t deserve any of what I said that night.” 

John knew Sherlock understood when conception and sorrow flashed across his face.

“To answer your question…” John began, setting his suddenly clammy palms against the table and taking a moment to calm his breathing, searching his heart for the answer of what should be an easy question but was anything but. 

“I… Sometimes.” 

“Sometimes?”

“I’m sorry my answer isn’t clear cut.” John was trying to be truthful. 

Sometimes Sherlock surprised him with his sweetness and it made him see Sherlock as a man, a good man. Other times, John felt an irrational fear consume him and to protect himself he’d remind himself of what Sherlock was deep within, a powerful alpha. But then again, Sherlock had never, _not once_ tried to dominate him and demonstrate his power. He was rather domestic and it was an alarming thought for an alpha to be such. 

“It’s fine.” Sherlock answered and weakly smiled up at John.

John mutely watched as Sherlock raised his fork of eggs and ate his meal.

“Thank you for this.” Sherlock gestured to his plate. 

John nodded and wondered where these questions came from? Did Sherlock, perceptive as he was, sense John was truly going to open himself up to this marriage and see where it led them? Was he trying to infer if John’s feelings were different from what he’d demonstrated during his heat cycle? John didn’t know, but he wished he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Years day began well enough, after eating breakfast together; John began moving his things downstairs and in Sherlock’s room. John hadn’t gotten far with moving his things before Sherlock wordlessly assisted, and with Sherlock’s help, it didn’t take long to finish.

John stood awkwardly in the middle of Sherlock’s—now their room, and glanced over to the dressers of the room.

“Where…” John began to ask. 

“I’ve made some room on the top three drawers. You can put your things in them as well as the walk-in closet. I’ll space the closet out a bit.” Sherlock offered, leaving John’s side to enter the closet and began shifting his clothing to one side.

John watched the alpha move, so kindly making room for his things and felt warmth run deep through him as a soft smile spread across his face. 

“Thank you.” John was grateful, not sure if the alpha even heard him through the clacking of hangers, but when Sherlock turned to look at him and he met sea green eyes, John’s smile widened. 

Ducking his head shyly, John slung a small suitcase onto the foot of the bed, opened it and retrieved a stack of undershirts before heading to the drawer. John placed all his undershirts in the third drawer and beside Sherlock’s pajamas. His briefs were then positioned to one side of the second drawer, next to Sherlock’s boxer-briefs. The first drawer was stuffed with Sherlock’s pristine, superior socks. John frowned when placing his generic store-bought cotton white ones.

Sherlock differed from John in every way imaginable. Sherlock prided himself for his intelligence, was cunningly arrogant and prideful. John liked to hide in the background, was studious, modest, and bright. Sherlock liked the finer things and always dressed to the nines. John didn’t care for the materialistic designer clothing and chose more efficient durable fabrics. Why buy expensive delicate clothing when there was cheaper clothing out there that could last longer? 

John retrieved one of Sherlock’s black socks and raised it for a closer inspection, the fabric was soft to the touch and the material shinned appealingly. Sure the fabric was nice, but was it really worth spending so much? John didn’t think so. Huffing faintly, wondering why it even bothered him, John began setting it back down, but then something caught his eye. 

A threadbare, dull—what once might have been a vibrant red, but now light reddish brown hand towel lay hidden under the cluster of fine socks. John set the sock in hand down to further survey the shabby looking towel in both of his hands. 

Why would Sherlock possibly still want such an old discolored thing? It was well past the time in which it should be thrown away and John could tell it certainly wasn’t a brand made towel. He had towels similar to this one, but even he would have thrown them away if they’d gotten _this_ old. 

Maybe John should get Sherlock some new ones and throw this hideous thing away? Sherlock would like that, wouldn’t he?

_A small gift always went a long way_

When Sherlock reentered the room, John quickly stuffed the towel in his suitcase to later discard and retrieve a new set for his alpha. 

“The closet’s ready for you.” Sherlock said, stepping near John to lift one of the heavier suitcases of John’s to place it on the bed. 

“Thank you.” John’s answered, zipping up the small suitcase and sliding it under the bed before setting his sights on the suitcase Sherlock set at the ready for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When John finished unpacking his things he entered the kitchen and found Sherlock working on an experiment, looking through his microscope, then jotting something down.

“Tea?” John offered.

Sherlock hummed with accord, never looking up, entirely focused on his project. John wasn’t bothered by it, seeing how engrossed Sherlock was in his work, and bustled around the kitchen preparing their tea, and retrieving some biscuits as a midmorning snack. The more food he could get into Sherlock the better. 

When the tea was ready, John poured their cups and placed a plate of biscuits near Sherlock. 

“Drink.” John encouraged, sliding into the seat beside Sherlock instead of across from him, which was what he normally did—but he was _genuinely_ trying now, wasn’t he?

Sherlock huffed tensely, not quite wanting to take a break from his research, but eventually set his pen down to drink his tea. John smiled against his cup, mid-sip. Sherlock at last took notice that John was seated beside him, closer than most friends would even sit together. 

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked, resonance lower than natural.

“Drinking tea.” John grinned pleasantly and playfully scooted closer, face inches from Sherlock’s. He cupped his tea cup in both hands, and never breaking eye contact with Sherlock, John raised his tea cup higher, eye level to Sherlock as a motion to encourage he drink his own cup. 

“ _Right_.” Sherlock drawled slowly, inelegantly, pale eyes lowering to stare down at his own steaming cup, and twisted away from John.

John was amused by Sherlock’s reaction. One thing he’d started to notice was that Sherlock didn’t quite know what to do with himself when John became friendly towards him. Sherlock’s voice fluctuated, either too deep or high, his eyes averted directly meeting his and he became withdrawn. Sherlock would pull back to further analyze John’s sudden change in behavior. 

“ _Sherlock_ …” John rasped deeply, leaning in closer than before all so he could inhale the scent of his husband; Sherlock smelled so bitterly sweet, so nice, overwhelming and heartening at the same time. 

“I want all our pups to have hair just like yours.” John mused honestly. 

John never expected for Sherlock—someone so elegant and graceful to choke on his tea mid sip and sputter tea messily from his mouth. Coughing hoarsely, Sherlock retrieved a napkin nearby and hurriedly dried his face, before accusing wild sea green eyes gawked in his direction.

“ _Pardon?_ ” Sherlock nearly squawked. 

John ducked his head bashfully, unable to hold Sherlock’s gaze for longer than a moment, and stared down at his cup now resting on the table. 

“It’s just so… marvelously dark as night and wildly beautiful. I like the way it wraps around my fingers and I just—our pups would look so adorable…and…yeah.” John’s words fell away; maybe he shouldn’t have been so candid.

Cautiously, John raised his eyes to see how Sherlock was taking his words and bit his tongue; Sherlock’s cheeks were burning red, his jaw line tense, lips pursed refraining from speaking. John cleared his throat, realizing he shouldn’t have said anything and quickly rose to his feet.

“I’ll just leave you to your experimenting.” John whispered, turning to leave, but before he could take the first step Sherlock’s hand shot out and snatched up his wrist, effectively halting his stride. 

“John…” Sherlock began, swallowing thickly as if fraught to voice his next words. 

John stared down to the floor, the silence grew too long and John felt a great need to leave, save what was left of his pride.

“I’d like all our pups to be just like you.” Sherlock husked, “Strong, brave, caring and honest.”

John’s sight blurred and stung, but it was just because of the sunlight seeping through the windows, nothing more. His heart thudded so loudly against his chest, he heard the hammering in his ears and his breathing came in quick and heavy. 

“Really?” John breathed weakly, stunned, but gladdened. 

Sherlock nodded emphatically. 

“That’s nice to know.” John glanced down to the ground once more, beaming. 

All at once there came the strident clacking of shoes hitting stairs and a moment later someone was banging on the door. John and Sherlock stared at the door with question.

“Come on Sherlock. Open up! There’s been a triple homicide in broad daylight with no witnesses. You’re needed.” D.I. Lestrade shouted from behind the door.

Sherlock immediately stood up from his chair, a wild smile upon his face, their conversation completely pushed to the back of the genius’ mind in the face of a new case.

“Broad daylight?” Sherlock thought aloud with fascination, already striding to the door, a skip to his step. 

John watched, mildly disturbed Sherlock could dismiss their conversation so quickly in place of a—albeit interesting case. The moment Sherlock let Lestrade in, the D.I. began debriefing the consultant on the case and urging him to go with him to the crime scene. Sherlock didn’t even pause before agreeing, retrieving his coat, scarf, and gloves. 

John looked away when Lestrade's eyes wandered over to him and scanned over his form suspiciously. He wondered if the older alpha had been able to hear their discussion from beforehand, but he highly doubted it. Maybe John looked suspicious because of the flush he could feel warming his face.

Regardless of these thoughts, John still couldn’t refrain from smiling with amusement by how energized Sherlock became. John knew how much Sherlock had been waiting for another case and after all they were married, they had all the time in the world to talk. This was okay, Sherlock needed to stimulate his mind and this case would most certainly do it.

“Come along, John.” Sherlock beckoned after him, making his way to the door in hot pursuit of the departing D.I., but when he’d reached the door and John had yet to move, Sherlock stopped in his stride out the flat.

“John?” Sherlock took a step towards him.

John released a heavy sigh and forced a smile that only partially reached his spirits. 

“It’s fine. Go solve the case. I’ll be here when you get back.” John reassured.

“You won’t come?” 

John really didn’t feel up to being referred to as Sherlock’s colleague or flat mate again.

“Maybe next time.” John offered.

Sherlock remained still and John stared off behind the alpha to the open door where he knew the D.I. was waiting down the stairs. 

“You should go, Lestrade is waiting for you.” John encouraged. 

Sherlock continued to evaluate John’s shift, and John noticed the very moment something seemed to click. John’s brows furrowed with confusion when the alpha’s shoulders slumped and his head lowered guiltily. 

“Sherlock.” Lestrade’s irritated voice boomed from down stairs. 

Sherlock didn’t respond to the D.I., instead, Sherlock stepped in John’s direction, seeming adamant about saying something, and though his mouth parted in the starting of speech, nothing came out.

“Go.” John spoke gently, wondering if Sherlock needed more support on his part, and willingly giving it. 

“John.” Sherlock sighed kindly, smiling weakly.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade barked.

“John.” Sherlock said again, resolute on saying what he needed to say.

John huffed a weak laugh, shook his head with disbelief, and a genuine smile tugged at the ends of his mouth. John crossed the distance between them and raised his hands, grasping a firm hold on Sherlock’s arms he grinned up at him.

“Go, before Lestrade comes back and kills our eardrums.” John joked.

Sherlock didn’t laugh, pale eyes staring with wonder.

“I’m going to tell them.” Sherlock finally said.

“I don’t follow.” John tried to understand Sherlock’s words, but was truly at a loss.

“SHERLOCK!”

“I’m coming!” Sherlock growled with annoyance, glaring back at the open door and where they knew Lestrade to be.

“Sherlock.” John attempted recapturing the alpha’s attention.

Sherlock snapped his eyes back up at him and they instantly turned kind. 

“You’re my husband. I’ll tell them. I promise.” 

John said nothing, suddenly realizing Sherlock was able to deduce his reluctance and bowed his head, staring at their feet less than a foot apart from one another, reminded of their wedding and looking at their feet in a similar position and couldn’t understand why his stomach gave a lurch at the remembrance. 

“ _Okay_ …” John whispered, a lightness filling his chest. “That’s… Okay.” 

Sherlock’s nose brushed the side of his temple and John heard the deep inhale as the alpha scented him. Footsteps echoed and John knew the D.I. was coming back up. Not understanding why he felt guilty, John released Sherlock’s arms and took two steps back. 

Sherlock didn’t seem bothered by John’s response. He merely rolled his eyes, spun on his heel and made his way out of the flat, meeting Lestrade halfway on the staircase. John chuckled deeply, hearing the two bicker their way down, Lestrade complaining and Sherlock dismissing the detective’s agitated remarks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The case was rather exciting, it sent him in several directions, each leading to a seemingly dead end, but then everything seemed to fall into place and Sherlock came to his answer. It’s taken him all day, but he’d solved the case and instead of slipping out when Lestrade and the other officers apprehended the killer, he’d lingered.

Pulling Lestrade to the side of the bustling officers in NSY headquarters, he stared with all the seriousness of the world. 

“Was there something else?” Lestrade asked in regards to the case.

Sherlock shook his head and deciding the detective’s office would be the best place to have this conversation. Sherlock pivoted and entered the D.I.’s office and waited for Lestrade to follow.

“Usually you ask to go into another person’s office.” Lestrade grumbled, but regardless of his agitation followed and shut the door behind them before seating himself at his desk.

Sherlock didn’t sit, instead he paced the floor in thought. 

“This isn’t about the case is it?” Lestrade came to infer. 

Sherlock spared him a moment’s glance before pacing again.

“Must be important, I’ve never seen you act this way.”

Sherlock nodded in confirmation. Lestrade could be trusted, but the others—Omegas were sensitive creatures and their pregnancies were temperamental, too much stress could cause an omega to have a miscarriage. Sherlock couldn’t risk that. Sally and Anderson, especially, if not checked, could overwhelm John and God-forbid, that amount of stress could cause a miscarriage.

Lestrade watched Sherlock closely.

“Is this about John?” Lestrade quizzed.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and met Lestrade’s calculating gaze.

“It is.” Lestrade confirmed, nodding his head thoughtfully, “I thought as much.”

“You knew?” Sherlock fumbled; completely thrown that Lestrade figured it out.

Lestrade chuckled, not fronted that Sherlock thought him incapable of deducing such truth. 

“Not at first, though I had my suspicions. It seemed odd that a flat mate, a _new_ flat mate would be _drenched_ in your scent so quickly and to such an extent. Then it was how sweet he smelled, no alpha or beta smells _that_ sweet—an omega then. Why would a bound omega be living with another alpha? The bond mark on John’s neck, the way he smelled completely of you and you him, then today I notice the matching wedding rings on both of your fingers, which meant that you are John’s bond mate. Not to mention that you’re a Holmes and an heir to a massive inheritance. Come on Sherlock, did you really think you could hide this? Love surely has muddled your brilliant mind.” Lestrade chuckled out the last bit lightheartedly. 

Lestrade’s analysis made sense and Sherlock couldn’t fathom how he’d overlooked all of these apparent signs. How could he be so distracted? Then Lestrade’s last statement was a slap to the face. Love… His feelings for John hindered his intelligence where John was concerned. 

“Love.” Sherlock hissed.

“Now, don’t go saying you don’t. I know a thing or two about love.” 

“ _Love_.” Sherlock shook his head, trying to ignore how his brain was screaming for him to destroy this feeling, that it was diminishing his intelligence. 

_Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side._

Sherlock told himself this time and time again as a child, but then… then he’d read John’s file. He’d seen a strong boy who fought against the world everyday of his life. Someone who was an outcast, much like himself, someone who wasn’t quick to trust, and even more less quick to let another in and he’d… Sherlock became fascinated. His experimenting came to a standstill as he’d struggled to figure out the real John and when he found he couldn’t, John beguiled him and he’d become emotionally compromised. Though John appeared normal, he was extraordinarily unique, a hidden treasure.

Love soon followed, whether Sherlock wanted it to happen or not, but he never thought it would weaken his deducing abilities. 

“Oh, don’t do that.” Lestrade admonished, sensing the man retreating from the very notion. 

“I trust you will inform your men and control their behavior where John is concerned.” Sherlock deadpanned, leaving no room for conversing of anything else.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Lestrade’s features tensed. 

“My thoughts exactly.”

Before Lestrade could say anything else, Sherlock was out the door.

  



	14. Chapter 14

When Sherlock arrived home it was 11:42PM. He wasn’t surprised to find John waiting for him, seated at the kitchen table, drinking tea. Sherlock knew his John well enough to know he’d stay up for him, but didn’t much like the idea of it. John was carrying his pups and although he wasn’t showing yet because he was in the early stages of pregnancy, it still wasn’t healthy for him. John needed his rest and he knew the omega had to wake early the next morning for work, so this really wasn’t good.

Sherlock stepped to John’s side, staring down at the kind smile of his omega. His heart filled with warmth at the sight. John was acting strangely since the New Year’s party and he had his suspicions that John was trying to be civil and open with him—a New Year’s resolution perhaps. 

“You shouldn’t wait up for me next time. You need your rest.”

John beamed, eyes lowering to his cup of tea and spoke fondly at it, “I wanted to be sure you came back home safe. I made chili, if you’re hungry.”

“I ate out.” Sherlock lied, but he wasn’t hungry.

“Okay. I’ll just clean this up before heading to bed.” John mumbled, seeming put off, but nevertheless rose to his feet and began cleaning up after himself.

Sherlock mutely watched John move about the kitchen, tidying up and lowered his head guiltily. Maybe he should have just eaten the chili, it must have taken John sometime to prepare it, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to retract his words from earlier. 

Sherlock turned away from John and headed for their room to ready himself for bed. Sherlock performed his bedtime routine to a fault, showering, caring for his hygiene, changing into his Saturday pajamas, putting his day clothes in a separate section of the closet to be later dry-cleaned, then headed back to the bedroom dresser. Pausing briefly, he listened to the distant sound of the kitchen sink running. 

Opening the first drawer, Sherlock shifted through his socks and came to a sudden halt. 

_It’s gone…_

Sherlock shook his head with disbelief—It _had_ to be here. He never moved it. Frantically looking through the piles of socks, he was unable to find it. Glancing to the left and to John’s socks, Sherlock felt what little color remained on his face, drain out.

“ _JOHN!_ ”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John had just finished cleaning up the dishes, shutting off the faucet; he’d jumped when Sherlock roared out his name. Sherlock had never yelled for him and his omega practically rolled over at the power of his call. John didn’t have much time to think it over and swiftly went to the room to find out what was the matter.

The moment he entered their room he knew something was wrong. Sherlock’s face was ashen white, eyes wide open and wild as he frantically shuffled through the dresser drawer. 

“Where is it?” Sherlock demanded, furiously searching through the drawer. 

“Where is what?”

“The towel!” Sherlock practically snarled spinning and facing John.

John brows knitted together, striving to make sense of Sherlock’s behavior, and then he remembered. 

“Oh, that old thing? I threw it out. I was going to get you some new ones in the morning.”

Sherlock didn’t move, didn’t speak, he just stared. The fierceness of his eyes doused out and was replaced by utter disbelief and…pain? 

“Was it important?” John could not comprehend how an old towel could mean so much.

Sherlock palmed his mouth, stilling any words from escaping. 

“Sherlock?” John asked worriedly when he realized Sherlock was trembling.

The pale hand over his mouth, slid away and the alpha was suddenly fisting at his shirt near his chest, his breathing was erratic. 

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Where?” Sherlock rasped.

“What?”

“Where the bloody hell did you throw it!” Sherlock was screaming now and John stepped back in surprise. 

“The kitchen bin.” John answered slowly and not a second later was Sherlock storming pass him and rushing for the kitchen.

John quietly followed after Sherlock, brows pinched together, still trying to make sense of the alpha’s strange behavior. He watched as Sherlock fell to his knees, opened the cabinet and retrieved the trash bin, hysterically tossing bits and pieces of waste on the kitchen floor, searchingly. When Sherlock caught sight of the unsightly towel, a choked whine fell from his mouth and he gently removed it from the filth to clutch it close to his chest. 

“Uh…” John was seriously at a loss. How could a ragged towel mean so much to Sherlock that he’d retrieve it from a bin?

Ice blue glared up at John accusingly. 

“Next time, ask before you throw something of mine away.” Sherlock growled and went back into the room. 

John shook his head with incredulity. 

_What just happened?_

John went after Sherlock and found the alpha seated on the bed, gently stroking the threadbare towel with his thumbs and a fond smile upon his face. John froze. Sherlock… That look… John hadn’t seen that particular look before. A painful thought occurred to him. The only reason Sherlock would keep something so old and worn, and rifle through a bloody trash bin…was if it carried sentimental value. 

Why would such a thought be painful? Sherlock was just his husband and mate—arranged, at that. It shouldn’t bother him, but then...could this mean… John stared at Sherlock, the alpha so focused on the towel; he hadn’t yet sensed John’s presence. 

Could this towel have once belonged to another? Sherlock was a twenty-four year old, gorgeous, wealthy, intelligent alpha; John couldn’t have been Sherlock’s first.

John stepped back out of the room, wandered back into the kitchen and absentmindedly began cleaning the mess on the floor. His thoughts continued down the excruciating path it had moments earlier. 

John had been a virgin in every sense of the word, unwilling as it might have been, but he’d controlled himself because of the contract his parents had made. What use would it have been for him to find someone, in the end—he would have still had to marry Sherlock and his omega would have been pained and conflicted. 

Sherlock, however, was an alpha. He must have had other lovers… How many did he truly love? That towel, was it a parting gift from a beta? It looked old…and Sherlock _still_ had it. Did that mean…

John fell back onto the floor, pressing his back up against the counter and shook his head, trying to rid the thought, but it still came.

Did Sherlock still love that beta? Surely he must. 

John let out a bitter laugh. _Right._ Of course Sherlock would have had other lovers. Sherlock must have had loads of lays. John wasn’t Sherlock’s first hand hold, hug, scenting, kiss, or fuck. 

The alpha was just like the rest. No different. Deceiving John, and actually having him for one moment believing the lie. Damn what Sherlock said, he was just like the rest. 

_Married to his work? What complete and utter shit._

John’s eyes stung, but it was just the remaining scent of onions he’d chopped earlier to make the chili. 

_Sherlock could find another beta. He wasn’t going to stop him. Sherlock can be a fucking man-whore, see if I care!_

When John finished cleaning up the mess in the kitchen he entered their room, body tense, and warily glanced over to Sherlock who was now laying in bed, tattered towel resting on the alpha’s nightstand. John quietly moved about the room, collecting his nightwear before entering the bathroom and showering. When he finished readying himself for bed, he wordlessly slipped under the sheets and curled up into a tight ball, wrapping the comforter around his form.

Not a moment later did Sherlock roll over to face John’s back and long arms wrapped around his waist, tugging him back and into the middle of the bed.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I just sort of… _I’m sorry_.” Sherlock spoke ambiguously, regretfully, warm smooth lips brushing against the back of his neck. 

John squirmed in the alpha’s hold and grasped a firm hold of Sherlock’s arms, tugging at them.

“Do you mind? You’re too warm.” John grumbled out an excuse to refrain from close contact, knowing Sherlock knew it to be a deflection.

Sherlock reluctantly unwound his arms around John, but didn’t move away fully. John huffed a breath of annoyance, and shifted further away to the edge of the bed, reminded of their first wedded night. Bitterness filled him at the remembrance.

“John… I _am_ sorry.” Sherlock weakly rasped in the darkness of the room.

“It’s fine. I understand. It won’t happen again.” John graveled, raised the comforter over his head and shut his eyes, trying to find sleep.

The silence of the room was loaded, but John wasn’t going to try and mend it. 

_Screw you, Sherlock._

“John.” Sherlock endeavored to make things right, a hand pressed against his shoulder then and John shrugged it off angrily. 

“I need to wake up early in the morning.” John sniped. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock's voice filled with remorse, but John wasn’t having any of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day John woke early in the morning, Sherlock sleeping at his side. Sometime during the night after repeatedly refusing the alpha’s touch, he’d broken down and allowed Sherlock to wrap him up in his arms, just so he could finally get some sleep before he had to wake up.

Work at the clinic went by slowly and in that time John had further time to stew in his damning thoughts. John was an omega, just an omega and Sherlock was the alpha he’d been arranged to be with. That was all this was. Why the hell did John even think of allowing himself to try something with the man? It would lead nowhere. John’s purpose in life was to bring Sherlock a family, to care for them. He’d been lucky enough that Sherlock was allowing him to have a job and the freedom to go out when he wished. This was all they could be. 

John amended his resolution then. He’d be Sherlock’s omega, birth him kin, and raise their family. Have a purpose with his job and the freedom most omegas didn’t and he would show Sherlock his appreciation for this through companionship—friendship. John could make their arrangement work. Friendship was something he could handle and it was apparently all Sherlock wanted of him. He most certainly had his fill of betas out there. 

_If Sherlock wanted skin-ship he could go fuck a beta, there were tons of them out there wanting._ John bitterly thought, slamming the flat door shut as he entered their home.

Sherlock was seated in his leather chair staring at the door expectantly. The moment John entered, Sherlock was standing upright, hopeful. John smiled slightly when the alpha flinched at the force in which he slammed the door. At least he knew John was agitated. 

“John, why don’t we go out for dinner tonight?” Sherlock immediately suggested.

_A fancy restaurant as a request for forgiveness, really?_

“Ate out.” John lied, though the alpha sensed it. John, after all, was a terrible liar. 

“You shouldn’t be skipping meals.” Sherlock admonished. 

John rolled his eyes, made his way to the kitchen and took a green apple from the fruit bowl, waving it in the air for emphasis before taking a vicious bite out of it. 

Sherlock scowled.

John sat himself at the kitchen table, eating his apple, and began texting Harry, all while ignoring the alpha.

“I’m sorry.”

_Harry, can you chat?  
-John_

_What’s up?_

“Do you know how hard it is for me to say sorry? I don’t say it often.”

_Just thought we should hang out.  
-John_

“John.”

_Sure thing. When?_

“I—I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I know that.”

John snorted irately and glared up at Sherlock.

“Why did you?”

Sherlock said nothing, looking panicked and John suspected he knew the reason why, but it did nothing to soothe the pang in his chest.

“I knew it.” John sneered acrimoniously and went back to texting.

_Are you busy now?  
-John_

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what you’re thinking.”

“ _John_ , you misunderstand.” Sherlock’s voice was soft, fragile. 

John looked up to see distress in the alpha’s eyes and lowered his phone onto the table. 

“They really meant that much to you?”

“ _John_.” Sherlock supplicated, distraught, moving to seat himself beside the simmering omega.

John watched guardedly as Sherlock hesitantly took hold of his free hand into both of his larger hands, cradling it gently and with all the care in the world. 

“You mean everything to me.” Sherlock whispered and John stared on, suspiciously.

“But the towel—”

“ _You_ mean everything to me.” Sherlock repeated and John could hear the sincerity of his words, though he wished he didn’t.

“It’s…in the past then?” John really didn’t think he could handle an old fling coming into their lives and interfering in their marriage. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock said his name in _that_ tone, a resonance that struck deep. 

John set his half eaten apple onto the table, exhaled a trembling breath and looked back up at the expectant gaze of the alpha.

“You made reservations?” John attempted to amend the tension between them.

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped, his head dipping low to press his forehead against the hand he still held and hummed in agreement.

“It’s a snooty restaurant, isn’t it?” John grumbled.

Sherlock chuckled and nodded in affirmation. 

“Can we go to Angelo’s instead?” John was hopeful.

“Yes, John. Anywhere with you will be fine.” Sherlock agreed. 

“That’s good then.” John said, deciding to let his resentment go. What had he expected of Sherlock? Everyone had a past, Sherlock might have had lovers, but John was his husband now. That had to mean something? As Sherlock said it was, _‘everything’_.

John and Sherlock stood to their feet, and as Sherlock grabbed his coat, John threw his apple away and read Harry’s response. 

_Talk to your husband, you dolt. If you still want to come over, I’ve got a guest bedroom, if need be._

John smiled brightly and texted back.

_It’s settled. Going out for Italian, but I will hold you up on the offer.  
-John_

_Me and my big mouth._

John stuffed his phone in his pocket and made his way over to Sherlock.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you hated apologizing?” 

“For you, I can say it forever.” 

“That’s good to know.” John nodded considerately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John couldn’t understand why he’d lost his temper with Sherlock when it really shouldn’t have even bothered him... Maybe he could, but it shouldn’t be that way. He shouldn’t feel this way. It had to be his omega instincts that caused him to act so irrationally. Although his omega side was far more open and honest than John’s logical side, ugh, this was just so frustrating.

The dinner at Angelo’s went well enough. They’d ordered their meals and Sherlock had been obliging and open to whatever it was John wanted to talk about. John could tell the alpha was trying his best to make up for his outburst the night before, but really…compared to Sherlock’s behavior, John’s was far less reasonable. 

Sighing, John smiled weakly up at the tense man before him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are _you_ sorry?” Sherlock was taken aback.

John might as well be honest. It wasn’t like he had anything truly invested in this arrangement. Why should he care?

“I shouldn’t have acted like some scorned omega. I had no right. This is an arrangement after all.”

“An arrangement.” Sherlock repeated, obviously disliking the phrase. 

“Well, yeah. I mean… I thought maybe we could try to make this marriage work, but then last night happened and it made me reevaluate things. I don’t think it would work out in the end.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, struggling to make sense of John’s words.

“Why not?”

“Well, because… It just wouldn’t.” John really didn’t know what he was saying. 

John knew that look well enough to know the wheels in Sherlock’s mind were turning. 

“You said you wanted to make this marriage work.”

“I did.”

“But not anymore.”

“No.”

“But you want to be friends?”

“I do.”

“ _John..._ How would that work when you’re pregnant with my pups?”

“I don’t know.” John felt suddenly perturbed with the inconsistencies of his evaluations. 

“Do you perhaps… like me?”

John said nothing, directing his stare to the table; he mulishly sipped at his water, refraining from speaking 

“John?” Sherlock persisted. 

John didn’t know if he liked Sherlock. Since that god-damned heat his mind was a complete mess.

“Please answer, John. Do you like me?” Sherlock sounded at his limits.

“I… Maybe?” John said the last with a huff of breath giving in a fraction.

“Maybe?” 

“Maybe.” John confirmed.

Sherlock gave a curt nod, hands coming together, fingers pressed jointly and resting under his chin as Sherlock took on his thinking pose. 

“If I said I wanted to make this marriage work, would you be willing to try again?” Sherlock contemplated aloud.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I want something with you.” Sherlock confessed and John never would have expected that.

Gawking, John could see the sincerity in Sherlock’s eyes. Still… there was the matter of that towel… John was one of who knew how many for Sherlock.

“I don’t share.” John blurted, face immediately turning red, but it was true. 

Omegas were fiercely monogamous and only mated once. Sherlock was his mate and there would never be anyone else for John, but Sherlock was an alpha. Alphas didn’t just mate with _one_ person, unless they _truly_ loved their partner. John couldn’t just believe Sherlock would be like his father, alphas like his father were rare. Most liked being in polygamous partnerships. 

“I can do that.” Sherlock reassured adamantly. 

“Can you, really? Do you know what that means?” John was unconvinced. 

“I do. I… You have _no idea_ how faithful I can be John.” Sherlock’s words were heavy with feeling, so unlike himself, but John felt Sherlock was implying something that didn’t quite reach his full understanding. 

“I… I can open myself to this marriage if you promise that I’ll be the only one for you.” That was as close as John could get to admitting that he felt anything for Sherlock; maybe in the future it would be far easier, but for now it had to be enough.

Sherlock leaned across the table, piercing blue staring intensely at him; a hand daringly reached out and took hold of John’s, holding on firmly. 

“I made vows and I’ll keep them.”

“Mm.” John hummed, distracted by the sudden contact and stared at Sherlock’s hand holding his own, but never pulled away.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

“So that means…” Sherlock led, one edge of his mouth twitching into a faint smile.

“It means this marriage…is real in every sense.” John defined. 

Sherlock’s stare was fixed on him, eyes so open and kind. John couldn’t even understand how he’d come to this decision, never expecting this conversation to ever take place or that he’d want this, but it did and he did. 

“Ah, such a lovely couple.” Angelo admired, stepping over to their table.

“I’ll bring you some tiramisu, on the house.” Angelo said, smiling happily, before departing.

John smiled shyly and was heartened when he noticed Sherlock’s reddened face. Despite that this wasn’t where he saw things going, if Sherlock wanted to make this marriage work and could be monogamous, why couldn’t John make an effort?

  



	15. Chapter 15

The one open conversation they had at Angelo’s, where they’d stopped holding back and confessed what they’d felt changed something between Sherlock and John—A hesitation on Sherlock’s part and distrust on John’s. After that, everything seemed to fall into place and the tension between them faded.

The day’s John worked, he woke before Sherlock. John would ready himself for his job, and then prepare breakfast for the slumbering alpha. He would leave Sherlock a plate beside his experiments/research, knowing the genius liked to eat his meals when working. 

John returned home later in the evening and Sherlock would be there waiting for him if he hadn’t been called away on a case. John would greet him with a friendly smile and the two would talk about their day as he prepared dinner. Sherlock would scold John for not already eating, but he liked to have dinners together, as it was usually the only meal they would share. Sherlock seemed to deduce this quickly and asked John to at least eat plenty of snacks to hold him over until dinner. John was heartened by how caring Sherlock was to his health and their pups, so he promised Sherlock he would. 

After they had dinner, they’d ready for bed. Once under the sheets John would be encircled in Sherlock’s arms. The first few weeks, John was spooned, but after their bond grew along with John’s trust in his husband, John would enact their bedtime scenting. John would reach out for Sherlock, curl up close against him, lay his head on Sherlock’s chest, and listen to the steady pounding of his heart (that always seemed to speed up when he’d tangled their limbs together). It never took long for John to fall asleep in Sherlock’s warm embrace. 

When John arrived home to find it empty, he knew Sherlock had been called away on a case and that he would prepare dinner for himself. Still, he always made enough for Sherlock just in case he were to come in early. Most times, John would wait up for Sherlock. When the alpha would return, John would be waiting for him, and ask if he’d like for him to warm up dinner, despite knowing Sherlock would refuse. Sherlock would just usher John to bed. 

On John’s days off, he’d sleep in, wrapping himself snuggly against Sherlock. At midmorning, Sherlock couldn’t stand to remain in bed any longer and he’d slip out with John grumbling and complaining. Sherlock would leave him for his experimenting and John would stay in bed an hour or so longer resting, before reluctantly clamoring out and readying himself.

He’d greet Sherlock then, the genius would usually be looking through his microscope, jotting notes down, reading, playing the violin, or whatever else with a firm squeeze of the shoulder, a mumble of, ‘good morning’, then prepared them breakfast. 

John would drag Sherlock to the table and they’d eat in relative silence. They’d then plan out their day. Sometimes they’d go window shopping and John would have a grand time while Sherlock would bicker about all the more productive things he could be doing right then. When there were festive city gatherings and events he had an interest in, he would drag Sherlock along. 

The best was a jazz festival where Sherlock preceded to criticize their performance, it was all dreadful, or so that was what Sherlock kept repeating. John just grinned at the sulking young man and pinched his arm, receiving a heated glare, but John only felt fondness at the sight of it. 

They’d tried to watch a movie, once, and John was in tears by the end, Sherlock complained about every little thing to the point where John enjoyed Sherlock’s cynical commentary more than the film. The patrons did not appreciate it as much. That was the first and last movie they ever watched in the theaters together. 

Most days off, they’d lounge about the house. Sherlock would continue with his experimenting and John would ask about the current research he was performing. That usually started Sherlock on a long explanation that had the two in a heated discussion. Most of Sherlock’s experiments were fascinating and given enough time, John was sure Sherlock’s work would be appreciated by scientists across the world. 

Later in the day, John would give Sherlock his space so he could focus on his work and read a book himself, or relax on the sofa and watch movies. Sherlock would eventually join him, seating himself across from him as he read, staring warmly in his direction until John would set his book down and they’d talk about everything and anything, and the conversations never seemed to falter. There was always something one of them wanted to say to the other and they’d spend long hours just talking and laughing, enjoying each other’s company.

When John was curled up on the sofa watching telly, Sherlock would seat himself beside him. Except when John was lying on the sofa, Sherlock would then raise John’s feet, sit down and rest the omega’s legs on his lap. Most times Sherlock’s hands would remain resting on John’s legs, sometimes lightly massaging. John would grin up at Sherlock before looking back at the television and the two would watch whatever was on, talking during the commercials and what Sherlock classified as a boring or inconsequential scene. Later, John would raise himself up and begin making dinner or Sherlock would order take out. They’d eat at the kitchen table or on the sofa watching a film. 

Some days off, Lestrade would call Sherlock in on a case, or he would come personally to retrieve him when the situation was dire. Sherlock would always ask John if he’d like to join him, and John usually went along with Sherlock. They’d go all around town, the cases taking them in every which direction, but through it all, John felt the strength of their bond growing. 

The first few times John came into contact with the NSY he’d felt many of the officials gaze focus intently on him. Their eyes full of disbelief that John was an omega and Sherlock’s husband, carrying the sociopath’s pups. Anderson and Sally would start what John could only assume would be snide comments about his omega status and being the mate to someone like Sherlock, but Lestrade would usually call them over or Sherlock would step up into Anderson’s and or Sally’s personal space and begin a methodical lashing of personal deductions so ruthless it had John grimacing for them. Sherlock would then move to stand protectively at John’s side, wrap a caring arm around John’s waist, possessively palming the softness of his belly where their pups were steadily growing and the scent of alpha pheromones would overwhelm John’s senses, until John’s knees nearly buckled. John would then press in close to nose against Sherlock’s chest, shoulder, neck and inhale, deeply affected but sufficiently calmed.

They’d head home after solving a case, or to further contemplate a case, and John would reluctantly leave Sherlock to stay up focusing on the case while John went to bed alone. He usually had to wake early for work the next day and he knew he couldn’t skip resting in his condition. Sometimes he’d wake to Sherlock still working on the case and other times Sherlock would be gone. When he was there, John would wish him luck and asked him not to do anything crazy while he was at work. Sherlock would smile and promise to be on his best behavior before bidding him a good day. 

A month and three weeks since John’s heat came and went and in that time, John could say this was the happiest he’d ever been. His human and omega side were coexisting well and he felt harmonious with everything.

It was John’s day off from work, he’d woken late that morning as was normal and while stepping out of the shower and drying himself with a towel, John came to a sudden pause. Lowering the towel away from his belly, John pressed a hand over the small pouch that was there. He really was pregnant and he was starting to show. 

John’s eyes stung, biting into his bottom lip, a startled laugh rumbled out of him. 

“My pups.” John whispered huskily, voice raw with emotions, “My beautiful pups.” 

John hurriedly wiped at his face, dried himself completely changed, and once he’d finished readying himself, he hurried out to the kitchen knowing Sherlock would be there. 

Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table jotting something down in a journal.

“Sherlock.” John exhaled erratically.

“Not now, John. I can’t lose focus.” 

“Sherlock.”

“Just a minute.”

“Sherlock!” John exclaimed.

“Yes, John, what is it!” Sherlock huffed, slamming his pen down and glaring up at the omega.

John laughed heartily, not even offended by Sherlock’s outburst and wrapped the startled genius in his arms. 

“John?” Sherlock said slowly, trying to derive the change in him.

John pulled Sherlock back enough to swiftly grab one of Sherlock’s hands in his own and slid it under his button up shirt and jumper to plant it flat on his belly. Sherlock said nothing, but John noticed the moment comprehension dawned, his mouth went agape and a strangled noise dispelled from his mouth.

“Mm.” John hummed in agreement.

“I can feel…”

“Mm.” John hummed energetically now, smile broadening, “Our pups.”

“ _John_.” Sherlock rasped, swallowing thickly, “ _Oh, John._ ”

“I know.” John croaked, blinking quickly, eliminating the dampness of his eyes. 

Sherlock let loose a sound of pure joy, stood from his seat and engulfed John in his arms. “My beautiful John.”

Sherlock was delighted and John buried his face against the tall man’s chest, inhaling his alpha’s scent.

“Our pups.” 

“Our pups.” John garbled against Sherlock’s chest.

John was filled with such elation. He never thought that showing… that actually feeling his body change, the soft small pouch growing would be such an emotional experience, but it was. It made him feel so warm, lightness in his chest growing ever powerful and delighting. Unexpectedly, lips pressed against his head of hair and John froze by the sudden change. Never had Sherlock kissed him—except during his heat, and technically John had initiated those kisses. 

The first kiss was followed by another and then another, and after, John lost count. Sherlock showered kisses on John, warm lips pressed against his hair, ear, neck, jaw, cheek, and then Sherlock was framing John’s face in his large palms and staring at him with such gentleness. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John gasped, not knowing what to do. He felt as if he were losing himself in Sherlock’s eyes…so stunningly blue, like the crashing waves of an ocean, reflecting light and beauty. 

They’d promised to try and live as a true married couple and everything they’d done so far had been going well and felt so right. This…this too felt right. Still, was John ready to take their bonding to this level? A kiss? It was just a kiss, right? 

John’s eyes trailed down Sherlock’s face to his lips, parted, pale and inviting, breathing erratically and needing. Not thinking of the consequences, John raised himself onto the tips of his toes, hands resting on Sherlock’s shoulders for support before his lips were a hairsbreadth away from Sherlock’s.

“Just a kiss.” John cautioned Sherlock, but it felt like it was more or so a reassurance to himself than anything else, not sure he had it in him to do more.

Sherlock gave a terse nod in concurrence and that was all John needed before he seized Sherlock’s lips with his own. Shoving his tongue deep inside Sherlock’s welcoming, warm, wet mouth, Sherlock released a needy groan and fisted the back of John’s jumper, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Sherlock’s tongue was there to greet John’s in an instant and they familiarized themselves with each other after so long an absence. Their lips slid up and under the other’s respective one, sensitive flesh running along sensitive flesh, breaths mingling with every soft sigh that spilled out of them, a melding of lips, of bodies that felt predestined and so… so marvelously matched. 

Sherlock’s confidence grew by the sound of John’s soft mewling vocalizations, until his tongue slithered in and out of John’s mouth, flicking and twirling, igniting something in John. The sharp gasps and smacking of lips was painfully audible to John’s sensitive ears and drove him wild, pure and instinctual want overpowering every sense of logic. 

“ _More!_ ” John growled, sliding his tongue back in Sherlock’s mouth and consuming him wholly. Mumbling against Sherlock’s mouth, breathing raggedly and licking pale pink lips, “ _I want more, Sherlock_.”

The need in John was ravenous and he couldn’t seem to slow down or stop himself now. 

_Good God, he didn’t think he’d ever want to stop._

With his grip on Sherlock’s shoulders, John shoved the taller man against the kitchen table, the legs of the table screeching as it was pushed back several inches. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders as Sherlock hunched awkwardly, head bending low to sustain the kiss. John raised himself up, arms closing around Sherlock, hands gripping tight as he attempted to climb up the tree that was Sherlock, odd an angle as it was, it didn’t seem to detour his attempts. 

John raised his left leg and drew it up over one of Sherlock’s hips, and kneed the edge of the table, losing his balance somewhat, but refusing to let loose, John compressed Sherlock firmly against his body and tongue-fucked him, his tongue diving in and out, hardly giving Sherlock enough time to play with it before extracting it. Sherlock whimpered pitifully, wordlessly pleading for John to stop all his mischievous playful teasing and give. It was too much fun to stop. John had only ever kissed one person, Sherlock, and his heat hadn’t really given him the time or patience to experiment with kissing. John wanted to explore Sherlock’s mouth; all while gaining more valuable information and learning the best ways to please Sherlock.

John could feel Sherlock’s hands hesitantly roam the expanse of his back, but then John’s leg half wrapped around Sherlock and those hands suddenly became devious. One slid under John’s shirt and fondly caressed his baby bump. John didn’t think the touch would be such a turn on, but it reminded him of the activities in which impregnated him. Sherlock touching his small pouch felt so personal and private an interaction. The realization he was full of _Sherlock’s_ pups… _Heavens_ , Viagra couldn’t make him _this_ hard. Arousal was kindled the very instant Sherlock touched his swollen belly and Sherlock released a pained groan scenting the arousal which in turn set off his. 

John knew things were quickly escalating. He’d only meant to kiss Sherlock, maybe enact a good snog-fest, but if John didn’t gain some semblance of control, they’d be shagging on the kitchen table in mere minutes. This was going too far and John, surprisingly, didn’t care to stop. A startled cry of delight broke through their kiss and had John moaning adamantly when Sherlock’s other hand slid down and cupped his ass cheek, groping obscenely at the fleshy globe. Four of Sherlock's fingers digging deep into the seam of John's trousers and yanked him up and against Sherlock’s body, John’s throbbing cock connected with Sherlock’s lean, solid thigh.

“ _Kiss me, hold me tight, and never let me go_.” John whimpered, biting into Sherlock’s bottom lip and tugged it with his teeth, not enough to cause physical pain, but enough to get his point across.

“Me? You want me to—?” Sherlock sobbed hungrily in answer to John’s keening with his own desperate one; the heated bulge of his cock pressing into John’s stomach, lips trailing along John’s mouth and to his neck.

John tipped his head back and to the side, exposing his bond bite, and hummed in contentment the instant Sherlock viciously sucked the exposed bond bite. John’s moan was positively porn-ish and he’d be mortified later, but right now, everything felt so marvelous. 

Then there was a thunderous knock on the door and John’s muddled mind hardly registered it at first, even when Sherlock tensed against him and his pleasant suckling of flesh stopped. John couldn’t understand why. Resolutely, John constricted his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, yanked him further down against him and endeavored to coil Sherlock up with his left leg. If he was just a few inches taller, he could wrap his leg fully around that narrow and pleasing to clutch waist. 

“ _More_.” John begged, frantic, kissing Sherlock’s jaw and cheek messily, trying to snatch Sherlock’s lips in another heated kiss, but Sherlock turned away from it.

“Someone’s here.” Sherlock explained, weakly.

“I don’t give a fuck.” John snarled with annoyance, attempting to reclaim Sherlock’s lips again.

The banging at the door started up again and John gave in when Sherlock refused to rekindle their activities. John glared up at Sherlock whose cold eyes were focused on the door. John discontentedly lowered his leg and he at last released Sherlock.

Stepping back enough to give the genius room to move, he mutedly watched as Sherlock went over to the door and opened it mid-knock. Gregory Lestrade stood beyond the door and if looks could kill, John was sure he’d have murdered Lestrade with the death glare he was sending the D.I.’s way. 

“Oh.” Lestrade stated, nose scrunching up as he scented their arousals. 

“Yes, Lestrade, you interrupted. Let me guess, there’s a case you need my expertise on.” Sherlock grumbled acerbically, crabby, turning from the D.I. to retrieve his coat and scarf. 

“Uh—yes. Two bank robberies committed one right after the other. Six were injured and four are dead.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.” Sherlock sighed heavily. Usually a case like this would excite Sherlock, but he appeared less than thrilled. This pleased John as it affirmed Sherlock must have wanted to continue what they were doing. 

Lestrade left to wait downstairs while Sherlock walked up to John

“John?” Sherlock started, saying little, but John knew he was asking if he’d like to come along.

“I can’t. I promised to visit Harry today.” John felt guilty that he hadn’t spent much time with his sister since they’d gotten married and promised her a day out around the city. 

“Alright.” Sherlock gave a brisk nod in acceptance, but John noticed the flicker of disappointment in his pale blue eyes.

“Sherlock.” John called when Sherlock was halfway out the door.

Sherlock paused, and watched as John hurriedly made his way to him. Grinning brightly, John threw caution to the wind, wrapped his arms around the alpha and planted a firm kiss to his lips. 

“Finish up the case soon and make it home for dinner, okay?” John asked optimistically.

Sherlock smiled genuinely and nodded in concord.

John kissed Sherlock again, a promise of more, and the dazzlingly lopsided grin that was his answer made John’s heart swell. 

“Go, now, before Lestrade comes back.” John said, releasing Sherlock and watched affectionately as he turned and bounded down the stairs, spirited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aw, my Johnny boy is sulking because he misses his hubby already?” Harry cooed sweetly across from John in a small café later that afternoon.

“What?” John blurted, taken aback, face heating up. 

“You didn’t listen to a word I was saying, just staring out the window miserably. I’m almost offended, but look at you… You’ve become a lovesick puppy.” Harry smirked.

“I’m not sulking and I’m not in love.” John barked out stubbornly. 

“I beg to differ. You _love_ your husband.” Harry giggled amusedly at the paradox of it all.

“I do not.”

“You do, completely, wholly, irrevocably.”

“No. I do not.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“ _I don’t_.”

“You do.”

“Don’t start this, because you won’t win.”

“I already have, look how defensive you are.” Harry laughed harder and John scowled.

“ _I **don’t** love my husband!_ ” John shouted furiously.

Harry’s grin broadened as John scanned the room and the patrons of the café, they were now staring at him curiously, and some started to giggle. John groaned mortified, and shielded his face with his hand.

“Being so defensive makes it all the more clear, Johnny boy.”

“ _I’m not_.” John hissed.

“Oh, Johnny love, it’s so painfully obvious.” 

“I _swear to God_ Harry, if you don’t shut up about this right now, I’ll leave.”

Harry huffed, glared John down, and though she said nothing he knew she was thinking it and growled with annoyance.

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Talk about something else.” John demanded.

…

………

…

“So… nice weather we’re having, eh?”

John’s scowl deepened.

  



	16. Chapter 16

_Harry didn’t know what the bloody hell she was talking about._

John didn’t love Sherlock. He really didn’t… Sherlock was sweet, extraordinarily kind, thoughtful, accommodating, and submissive when John needed Sherlock to be, always there for him, a good friend. A husband, a mate—arranged, a friend over time, but love…? No, John didn’t love Sherlock. He liked him as a person and sure they were going to try and make this marriage work, but that didn’t mean John _loved_ Sherlock. 

John just didn’t.

John was seated at the kitchen table staring down at the baked rosemary chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, greens, and tomato salad he’d prepared for Sherlock and grimaced. When had John ever put so much thought in preparing meals for his friends? Never. Still… He never lived with his other friends. This was just…being civil. No underlining thoughts or feelings with such actions. 

Glancing to the clock John sighed and hung his head low.

12:08AM

Sherlock was still on the case, he most likely wouldn’t come home for a long while. Rising to his feet, John began putting the food away and when the kitchen was clean, he headed to their room and readied himself for bed. He was exhausted and had to wake early for work. 

John lay in bed and absentmindedly palmed his belly, running his hand over the soft bump and exhaled a long breath. He’d kissed Sherlock… He’d started the kiss… It felt right, but still, was it? John felt his cheeks heat by the memory of how he’d clung to Sherlock and God, the sounds he’d made… John groaned, mortified. Why had he behaved like a depraved needy omega? Maybe because he was?

A sudden thought occurred to John. He was pregnant and it was a well known truth that, pregnant omegas became rather aroused during the beginning stages of their pregnancy. But was that really what made John so needy? He hadn’t felt aroused until after he’d kissed Sherlock, but couldn’t it be a belated response?

John grumbled with dissatisfaction. Figuring his feelings were far too confusing to understand at this very moment, he decided to sleep on it. John just needed to sleep this off and things would hopefully make sense later.

It was early morning, when John woke. His mind was fogged in a confused mess when arms wound themselves around him.

“Mm.” John moaned, shifting back into the lean frame behind him. 

“John.” Sherlock greeted smoothly.

“What time is it?”

“4:46AM.” 

“Good God.” John groaned, curling inward, hugging his pillow and rubbing his face against the comforting cushion. Sherlock’s arms tight around his waist, lanky form pressing against his back.

John tried to go back to sleep, but then Sherlock’s hand lowered to caringly run over his round belly. John hummed sleepily, the feel of Sherlock’s hand running over his shirt and belly felt wonderful. The softness of John’s cotton shirt gliding delicately over the sensitive skin of his stomach was a pleasant sensation. 

“John.” Sherlock rasped in his ear. 

Biting his bottom lip, John shivered against Sherlock’s touch, and inhaled sharply, scenting the strength of two arousals within the room. 

“I have to wake early.” John elucidated, wanting to talk, but knowing he would be losing time on some much needed sleep. 

“I know, but can I…?” Sherlock’s words trailed off as one hand dragged from his belly to palm John’s hardness through his sweatpants.

“Mm. _Yes._ ” John whimpered shakily, unable to refuse.

Sherlock pulled away enough to press John by the shoulders until he lay on his back. John opened his eyes and stared up in the darkness of the room. The city lights from outside their window providing enough illumination to make out the faint traces of Sherlock’s fond smile. 

John raised a hand out and palmed Sherlock’s cheek, thumb gliding over Sherlock’s lips. John was taken aback when a tongue darted out and swiped the pad of his thumb, before nipping at the tip, light and playful. 

_Such a beautiful mouth_. John thought, breathing heavily, cock jolting with raw desire. 

“I want to suck you.” Sherlock rumbled throatily. 

John flushed with the bluntness of Sherlock’s words. Carding fingers through dark tresses, John bit his bottom lip and nervously nodded in acceptance. God, John was acting like it was their first time, and in a way it was. Their first time in the way that heat and rut weren’t controlling their actions. This was voluntary, no raging hormones, no crazy need to fuck like rabbits—Just an alpha and omega, married, and strongly in-like. 

“What… What about you?” John knew it was a stupid question, but John didn’t have the confidence to return the favor and…and… God, this was all so very strange. They were married—married people had sex. It was a normal occurrence, but their union was everything but normal. 

“Don’t worry about me. I just really want to taste you.” Sherlock soothed, sliding back down John’s frame and tucking himself between John's spread legs as John timidly released Sherlock of his hold.

John’s hands hovered above him, awkward, shy as Sherlock’s fingers hooked over pants and sweats, slowly tugging them down. John cooperatively raised his hips and legs, allowing Sherlock to effortlessly slip them off and tossed the clothes in a clump somewhere by the foot of the bed.

“Shirt.” Sherlock murmured timidly, eyes scanning the expanse of John’s abdomen. 

His belly… John knew Sherlock wanted to see it. The pouch confirming John was full of Sherlock’s pups.

John sat up slightly, Sherlock palming the back of his thighs as he shifted further down until he pressed his forehead against one of John’s inner thighs and stared up at him as he removed his shirt and tossed it over the bed. 

John swallowed audibly, lying back on the mattress, completely exposed to Sherlock’s viewing pleasure. The city lights casting an orange glow upon his body and revealing the swelling softness of his belly. Sherlock groaned low, contented.

“You’re so beautiful, John.” Sherlock hummed affectionately, nuzzling the sensitive flesh of John’s inner thigh. 

John bit his bottom lip, sealing the needy moan that wanted so much to be let out. Sherlock’s nose gliding over the expanse of his sensitive skin sent pulses of electrifying pleasure through him, his cock jolting once more, begging for the alpha’s attention. 

Sherlock watched John’s cock jerk with life, moving just slightly, resting heavily against the swell of his belly. 

“Will you taste me now?” John was hopeful. He wanted Sherlock’s to take him by his mouth as he’d done that one time he’d first brought John off during his heat. 

“Okay.” Sherlock stared at the flushed cock, one hand gripping the back of his thigh while his other moved smoothly up John’s hip and further still, until he caressed fondly over John’s belly.

“So full.” Sherlock observed with fascination.

“Mm.” John smiled, one hand lowering to join Sherlock’s in palming his stomach.

“John, you’re so full of my pups.”

“Your pups.” John echoed warmly.

“ _John_.” The way Sherlock said his name… John never thought words alone could bring with it a soaring richness in his heart.

John hummed with delight the very instant Sherlock’s hand upon his belly roamed south and took hold of him. The heated moistness of breath ghosting over the head of his cock sent a thrilling chill that rocked through him. John moaned, enraptured. The warm smooth wetness of a tongue swiped over the spongy head.

“Sherlock.” John hitched.

Sherlock laved at the head again, before pale lips puckered and planted a sucking kiss on the tip. John whimpered pitifully, squirming at the oversensitivity of such manipulation. Sherlock’s graveling hum sent zinging pulses of rapture to overtake him. 

“Sherlock.” John whispered breathlessly, head tossed back, lips parted, heavy breaths puffing out in a sharp keening cry.

Sherlock touched the inner part of John’s thigh, his lips widening, opening further and took in just a few more inches of John’s cock. 

“So good, Sherlock. Feels so good, love it, love, love, love.” John whined, one hand lowering to fist at black tresses, his other palmed at his belly, reminding himself not to buck and jostle Sherlock nor overexert himself. 

Sherlock hummed louder, growing all the more confident, smile tensed as he took in John to the hilt, nose burying deep in blond hair and driving John wild by the sight of it. 

“You’re taking all of me so well. Will you obey every request I make?” John asked voice thickly laced with lust, eyes smoldering with want at the sight of Sherlock staring up at him with such adoration and need.

Sherlock garbled out a noise close to a ‘yes’ and John groaned deep, the vibration sending him close to the edge.

“More, suck harder.”

Sherlock did as he was asked and John belted out a cry of complete and utter enjoyment. 

“Take yourself out and jerk off to the taste of me in your mouth.”

Sherlock shifted, knees pulling up until he was kneeling low, sucking fervently, head bobbing slow and powerfully as one hand lowered to shove his sleeping slacks down enough and allowing his heavy cock to spring out. Sherlock took himself in hand and began stroking delicately at himself groaning happily, mouth full of John’s cock as he did so.

“Thumb at the slit.” 

Sherlock inhaled sharply through flared nostrils, inhaling more of John’s arousal, driving Sherlock mad with want.

“You’re doing it?”

Sherlock nodded as best he could with his mouth full.

“Lay diagonally. I want to see. _God_ , I want to see you touching yourself.” 

John lifted his right leg up enough so Sherlock could lie on his side, still sucking John; with every upward pull of his mouth he rubbed his tongue on the underside of John’s head.

John crossed his leg over the back of Sherlock’s knees and spread his legs wider to take in the sight of Sherlock fisting at himself.

“Fast, suck and stroke faster.” John moaned pitchy, Sherlock immediately answering John’s plea.

“ _God_ , nnn—how are you this submissive?” John wondered in disbelief and awe, breathing laborious, torn between watching Sherlock sucking him off, lips bruising red, saliva dribbling from the sides of his mouth and to Sherlock’s hand quickly and fervently jacking himself off. 

“Would you bend over and let me take you? Are you that submissive?” John couldn’t help but wonder about such a possibility.

Submissive alphas were unheard of. If such a thing existed they didn’t talk about it. An alpha submitting to someone else claiming them (an omega at that) was unheard of. John never thought about claiming Sherlock as his own, being an omega—well, it just made sense to have Sherlock claim him. Instinct told him to submit, but John—having lived so long being bullied by his peers and then his family forcing him to abide by their wishes; he’d lost control over every aspect of his life. Not this though. Sherlock wasn’t controlling their marriage. It was all John. John could take what he wanted and give as much or as little as he felt, and that power… The dominant role he was allowed to take, well… John never felt as turned on as he did now.

Sherlock tensed, mouth and tongue faltering, hand stilling of its caress on his cock as piercing eyes stared up at John in disbelief. 

John stared back warily. Had he gone too far? It was unnatural for an alpha to be dominated in such a way, but since Sherlock had literally never once taken the dominate role, he’d thought...

Sherlock’s body rapidly relaxed and he slipped John’s cock from out of his mouth to inhale deeply.

“I’m obedient to you. Status doesn’t matter to me. I’ll do anything you ask of me.” Sherlock rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Suck me off, touch yourself, but don’t come.” John ordered.

Sherlock’s answer was swallowing John whole and sucking with such force, John was reduced to keening out pitiful mewls of ecstasy. John panted loudly watching Sherlock’s hand loosely hold himself and fondle himself in quick, eager movements. 

Sherlock let out soft deep groans and John couldn’t control himself anymore as he came so hard, his back arched off the bed and Sherlock’s throat relaxed to take in the spurting load of John’s seed.

“ _Oh_ , oh swallow it all. Take all of me. Fill up on my seed.” John sighed blissfully, enjoying the pulses of pleasure rippling through him.

When John came back down from the high, Sherlock was laving up his flaccid cock, cleaning him of any remains of release and still touching himself.

“Come here. Sit on my lap and jerk off till you cum on me.”

“John.” Sherlock growled full of yearning. 

John smiled up at Sherlock as the taller man shifted and sat himself on John’s thighs and began to touch himself once more. John stared up at Sherlock watching with fascination as Sherlock’s chest rose and fell with every sharp inhale and exhale he made, a choked strained whine lodged in the back of his throat as his strokes became rapid and frantic. 

John lowered his hands to run them affectionately up and down Sherlock’s lean legs, feeling the heat of his flesh through the thin fabric of his striped slacks. 

“Next time, you’re going to finger me.” John boldly said, Sherlock’s hand stuttering mid-stroke. 

“Next time, you’re going to finger me so well that I won’t be able to stay still.”

“ _John!_ ” Sherlock sobbed in surprise, visualizing the scene John painted.

“You won’t touch yourself. I won’t let you get off that easy.”

“John.” Sherlock’s hips rocked against the motion of his hand.

“You’ll suck my bollocks.”

“I’ll suck them.” Sherlock hissed excitedly.

“Tongue my rim? Would you?”

“ _Yes_.”

“For how long?”

“As long as you wish.”

“Would you make me come just by tongue-fucking it alone?”

“Yes. _God, yes!_ ”

“Would you then fuck yourself between my thighs?”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Sherlock frenetically cursed as he came, globs of hot come shooting out and splattering wetly across John’s swelled belly, chest, neck and even a few blobs of come landing on his chin and upper lip.

“You’re magnificent Sherlock, so bloody beautiful.” John admired, hands roving over Sherlock’s legs.

Sherlock whimpered piercingly, shivering with the aftershocks of a strong orgasm before he rolled off John and landed heavily beside him. John sat up and wordlessly tucked Sherlock back into his pants and slacks, before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing a few tissues to wipe his body clean and discarded them in the trash bin beside the bed. 

“Come here.” Sherlock ordered warmly, a hand reaching out and taking John’s in his.

John smiled up at Sherlock and curled up close to the alpha. Sherlock raised the bed sheets over their bodies and John didn’t even feel shy about being completely naked pressed up against a completely clothed Sherlock at the moment. 

John tucked his head under Sherlock’s chin and inhaled his scent, content that Sherlock smelled more like him than anything else and he knew he must smell heavily of Sherlock. 

John shut his eyes, satisfied, when Sherlock’s hand roamed over his exposed belly and lips pressed against his head of hair.

“Get some rest John. You have to go to work soon.”

John snorted, “Yeah, whose fault was it that I’m up now?”

John could feel Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile, but he never said anything as they both fell into an almost instantaneous deep sleep. 

Several hours later when John woke, he found Sherlock curled up close to him, breathing steadily in a deep sleep. John knew he should slip out of bed and get ready, but instead he spent several more minutes in Sherlock’s embrace, running his fingers through dark curls. Sherlock shifted slightly against him, released a content sigh, but his rest remained undisturbed by John’s attention. When John couldn’t hold off leaving their bed, he pressed a gentle kiss at Sherlock’s hairline and left Sherlock to his sleep while he readied himself for work. A smile tugged at the ends of his lips and remained, no matter how hard John tried to hide it.

  



	17. Chapter 17

John stood over a simmering pot of pasta sauce he’d learned how to make many years ago from his grandmother. Although it would never taste as good as his Nana's, it was a close second. John really wanted Sherlock to try his pasta. He made it better than the rest of his family. It was his specialty. Sherlock enjoyed Italian food, and John hoped he would appreciate his efforts. 

John stirred the bubbling sauce. Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table, sipping his cup of tea, watching him. John was bustling about the kitchen, completely focused on his work and unaware of Sherlock’s intense stare. Rising to his feet, Sherlock walked over to him. Standing at John’s side, John looked up at Sherlock curiously, yet smiled and spooned a small amount of sauce. Blowing at the wooden spoon and cooling the sauce enough to place some on the palm of one hand, John licked it up and smiled with approval. 

“Perfect.” John said to himself, before raising the spoon up to Sherlock’s mouth as a silent offer for him to taste his sauce. “Try some.”

Sherlock glanced at the wooden spoon curiously and wordlessly opened his mouth, dipping his head slightly to meet John’s raised spoon halfway and took in a mouthful. Pulling back and smacking his lips softly, Sherlock’s eyes lit up.

“Good, yes?”

“Wonderful.”

“I hope you’ve worked up an appetite.” John chuckled cheerily, shutting off the stove and opened the oven just as the timer buzzed. 

Retrieving an oven mitten from the side counter, John removed a pan of golden garlic bread and set it on the counter, unaware of Sherlock staring after him with such fervent longing.

“John.” Sherlock watched perceptively as John shut off the oven.

“Mm?” John hummed, retrieving the cooled pasta in its bowl and began mixing it with the sauce.

“Can we have sex now?” The question was asked lightly but with insistency. 

John choked on spit, blanching up at the awaiting Sherlock who starred on with eagerness, a twinkle in his eyes. John had been so preoccupied with preparing their dinner he hadn’t scented the alpha’s arousal until that very moment. 

“Now— _now?_ ” John stammered. 

“Yes.” Sherlock exhaled shakily, eyes darkening with lustful need. 

John swallowed thickly. Since that night where they… they hadn’t done anything like it again. It had been a week and a half since, but Sherlock hadn’t initiated another copulation of sorts and John had been too nervous to do so himself. 

John uncertainly stared at the pasta before him, unsure what to say. Sherlock moved and John couldn’t stop himself from looking up and gawked as the alpha boldly began to unbutton his crisp white shirt, revealing a milky white chest that made John want to suck up the luminous flesh, bruise and mark it as his own. 

“Coming?” Sherlock asked, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders, spinning and making his way to their room, and John knew if he followed it would lead him to a completely nude Sherlock.

John glanced back up at the pasta and cooling bread, smiled shyly, wondering what the hell he was waiting for before he chased after Sherlock. True to his beliefs, the moment he entered their room, he found Sherlock kicking off his white boxer-briefs, leaving him completely bare, and his clothes in a pile on the floor.

John’s eyes wandered the expanse of Sherlock’s long lanky body, porcelain smooth skin, and toned lean muscles.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband.” John hoarsely admired the tall man before him.

Sherlock smiled timidly and raised a hand out for John. 

“Come here, love.” Sherlock requested.

_Love…?_

John hesitated by the use of such endearment. Sherlock couldn’t possibly love him. No. Love… was just a superficial endearment, like sweetheart and dear. It didn’t mean Sherlock loved him. In spite of knowing this, the mention of such an affectionate term set John’s stomach rolling with anxiety and want.

John stepped towards Sherlock until he stood a mere foot away, and stared up at him intensely as Sherlock assisted in removing his jumper and unbuttoning his shirt. While Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt, John unclasped his belt and undid his trousers. Spanning his arms out, Sherlock tugged John's shirt completely off before he toed his shoes off and stepped out of his jeans. 

Sherlock palmed at the bulge of John’s red pants, breathing in deeply of John’s strengthening arousal. 

“I’ll keep my promise.”

“Promise?” John asked at a loss, biting into his lower lip, holding off on a pleading moan when Sherlock’s hand ceased its teasing.

Then Sherlock sent him that look. That look that told John all he needed to know and his face heated with embarrassment.

“Oh…” John whispered hoarsely, glancing down to the ground, bashful. “I didn’t… I was just… We don’t have to do that if you don’t—”

“Shut up and get on the bed.” Sherlock ordered with no malice. 

John sat himself onto the bed, crawling back to the middle and staring up at Sherlock standing near the foot of the bed watching him with keenness. 

“We’ll need—”

“I have some.” 

John was taken aback, not about how Sherlock seemed to know what he was going to say before he said it, but because Sherlock would have lubricant. If Sherlock had lubricant that would mean he needed it for previous lovers. 

Sherlock moved around to his side of the bed and to his nightstand, opening the first drawer, John could make out that faded red towel laying in it beside a large, unused bottle of lubricant. 

Sherlock shoved the drawer closed with more force than was necessary when he looked up and found John’s gaze focused on the towel within, pain clearly written upon his face.

John glanced away from Sherlock, and stared at the wall, feeling unexpectedly unsure. Though they hadn’t talked about it in full detail, John had thought because he hadn’t found the towel in the sock drawer that night, Sherlock discarded it, but apparently he was wrong.

John was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t feel the dip of the bed. When a hand reached out and palmed his cheek, turning his head to face Sherlock’s vulnerable and pleading gaze did he realize the alpha had moved to his side. 

“John.” Sherlock whispered. 

John’s eyes faltered, unable to hold Sherlock’s stare for longer than a moment and stared down between them at the bottle of lube on the mattress, grimacing by the bluntness of it. Was John second best compared to this elusive past lover of Sherlock’s? Would Sherlock secretly be comparing the two? Was John inadequate compared to this past love? John knew he didn’t know much about relationships and sex, but he’d thought… 

_God, he was a fool._

John should have known this past lover was better than him in every way. Why else would Sherlock keep the towel? Sherlock kept the towel because that lover was so important to him. Even now, the ghost of Sherlock’s past love was intervening in their marriage. 

“John.” Sherlock hissed insistently, another hand moving to cup his other cheek and then Sherlock’s thumbs were hurriedly brushing away the silent tears that had begun to fall, and John hadn’t even realized he was crying until now.

“Jesus, I’m a fool.” John chuckled bitterly, rearing back and away from Sherlock’s caress to angrily wipe away the hot tears himself.

“No, John. _No._ ” Sherlock persisted. 

John glanced down at himself, no longer aroused, flaccid, and then over to Sherlock who was going limp. John hissed acrimoniously, he couldn’t even please his alpha, of course Sherlock kept that lover’s towel. John wasn’t what Sherlock wanted. Not really. Sherlock was just making this unfortunate arrangement forced on him work.

“John… _You mean everything to me_.” Sherlock attempted to reassure John of his commitment to him, but John couldn’t believe him.

_If I meant everything to you, why keep the towel? If I meant everything to you, why turn soft? If I meant everything to you, you’d have thrown the towel away._

“I… can’t.” John graveled, scrambling out of the bed, and hurriedly retrieved his clothes from off the ground. When he heard Sherlock’s footsteps padding on the ground behind him, catching up to him, John rushed to the bathroom, barricading himself in and heard Sherlock come to a stop outside of it. 

“John.” Sherlock called from beyond the door, voice trembling, and if John didn’t know better he’d almost say the alpha was close to tears, but that couldn’t be. Sherlock didn’t care enough for him to feel any sense of rejection, not like how John felt now.

John ignored the alpha, putting his clothes back on before sitting on the closed toilet and silently condemning himself and his behavior.

_How was he going to get through this awkward situation?_

John warily stared up at the door and exhaled a trembling breath. Palming his face, feeling absolutely powerless, John focused on listening on the alpha. He could hear the alpha shuffling, changing back into his clothes, and then the harsh panting breaths as the alpha paced the hall outside of the restroom. 

Knowing he couldn’t hide out forever; John exited the bathroom and met Sherlock halfway through his pacing in the hall. 

“John—” Sherlock started, but John raised his hand up to silence the tall man. 

Taking a half step to him, John placed a hesitant, but nevertheless kind kiss to Sherlock’s cheek.

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” John said, stepping to the side of a dumbfounded Sherlock and back into the kitchen where he continued preparing their dinner.

“I _can’t _forget, because it _does_ matter.” Sherlock grumbled behind John, glaring at his back as John stirred more sauce into the pasta. __

__“Mm.”_ _

__“Don’t do that. We can’t ignore this.”_ _

__“I’m not. I just don’t want to argue.”_ _

__“Fine then, no arguing. We still need to talk about this. You need to believe me when I say you mean everything to me.”_ _

__“I know.”_ _

__“You don’t sound sure.”_ _

__“I am.” John answered dully, blinking quickly, keeping his emotions within._ _

__“ _John_.”_ _

__John spun and set a bowl of pasta and plate of garlic bread on the table, before going to the refrigerator, not looking down at the drawer full of human fingers and retrieved the salad to set on the table and took off the plastic wrap._ _

__“ _John_.” Sherlock was begging now._ _

__John ignored Sherlock’s pleading and sat himself at the table._ _

__“Let’s eat.”_ _

__Sherlock seated himself beside John and took his hand into his much larger ones, much like he’d done when seeking John’s forgiveness the first time._ _

__John shut his eyes, sealing the dampness within and felt the soft press of lips on his knuckles._ _

__“John…”_ _

__John couldn’t speak, fear that his voice would crack and instead tipped his head where he knew Sherlock’s shoulder was, pressing his nose against him and inhaling deeply of alpha pheromones._ _

__“I just need time.” John whispered._ _

_Time to accept that I’m not who you wanted._

__“John.” Sherlock cooed, pressing his lips to John’s temple, in a kiss of defeat._ _

__John pulled away then, served Sherlock and himself and stared somberly at his plate, eating quietly as he felt Sherlock’s intense stare._ _

__They didn’t talk throughout their meal, but Sherlock seated himself closer than was normal. Sherlock’s lean leg intentionally pressed against John’s muscular one in the form of reassurance and affection._ _

__When they’d finished their meals John began cleaning up while Sherlock prepared himself for bed. John took a long shower and began to consider his reaction in regards to the towel. He shouldn’t have responded so strongly to it, but he had. There was a loud knock on the bathroom door and a moment later it opened partly._ _

__“John?”_ _

__John said nothing, filled with uncertainty._ _

__“Mm?”_ _

__“Lestrade just called. It’s a new case. I—I need to go, if you want to join, I can wait for you—”_ _

__“Go.” John cut in. Realizing how cold he was being, he amended. “It’s okay.”_ _

__John didn’t hear the door shut and knew the alpha was still there, struggling to voice something._ _

__“John, you know… You realize that I…”_ _

__“Made a commitment to me and will stay faithful. I know.” John resentfully acknowledged he would only ever be an obligation to Sherlock._ _

__“No… John… I…”_ _

__“Just go. Lestrade needs you.”_ _

__A moment of thickly laced silence came before John finally gave in, bowed his head under the rushing water of the showerhead, and said weakly._ _

__“Be careful and come home soon.”_ _

__“ _John_.” Sherlock said with hope._ _

__John slammed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing, this shouldn’t change anything. They’d work through this. Sherlock promised him he’d be his, faithfully._ _

___He had to make this work._ _ _

__

____

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ella Thompson sat across from John Watson, watching as John’s eyes glanced her way before averting to contemplate the design of the carpeted floor between them.

“It’s been a while John.”

“Mm.”

“Would you like to tell me what has been going on in your life?”

“I’m pregnant.” John blurted.

“How do you feel about that?” Ella asked.

She skipped congratulating John and this didn’t surprise him. Most omegas accepted their pregnancy, not because they wanted it necessarily, but because it was expected of them. Ella wanted to figure out John’s mental state. How he was taking his pregnancy. 

“I had my heat. Now I’m pregnant.”

“Surely you must feel more than that?”

John did. He accepted his pregnancy and would raise his children with all the love and care he possessed.

“I’ll care for them.”

Ella frowned. John had always been a stubborn one where his feelings were concerned.

“How about your relationship with your alpha, Sherlock, is it?” 

John swallowed dryly, met Ella’s eyes for a moment before staring away and to the window overlooking the city.

“Sherlock… is agreeable.”

“Agreeable? You must certainly feel more than that?”

“He…” John’s brows knitted close, lips pursed in a grimace of pain, “He didn’t want me.”

Ella’s eyes softened as she leaned forward and said gently, “What do you mean?”

John raised a hand to palm his eyes, shielding them from Ella’s observant view.

“This arrangement… We’re trying to make it work, but…”

“Yes, John?”

“But I know it wasn’t what he wanted, because he won’t let go of his past love.”

Ella stared on with concern. John was her patient and she cared about him, like she cared about all her other patients. Still, John was different. John was her first omega patient, the first omega she’d ever met, and she knew how omegas were tremendously loyal and sensitive when their status was placed into question by their alpha. Alphas weren’t generally monogamous and it was always excruciating for an omega to accept their alpha wanted another lover. 

“Is your husband… seeing someone else?”

“Yes… No… I don’t know.” John stammered, eyes misting when faced with the possibilities. 

“He… He said he wouldn’t, but he has this towel he keeps. It’s from a past love and I think, because he won’t throw it away... I think he misses them and maybe… Maybe he’ll go back to them.”

“ _Oh, John_.” Ella breathed sensitively. “Have you talked with him about it?”

“Somewhat.”

“John, keeping silent about the way you feel won’t solve anything.”

“I _can’t_ confront him.” John shook his head resolutely. He couldn’t bear it. 

“Why? John, through talking you’ll be able to understand Sherlock’s intentions.”

John said nothing, shutting his eyes he rubbed them with his fingers, ridding them of the dampness and took in several deep breaths. 

“John…”

“I couldn’t take it if Sherlock… if Sherlock still wants his past love.”

“John…” Ella softly spoke; waiting until John’s hands lowered and deep blue stared up at her full of helplessness and grief. 

“Do you perhaps…” Ella began, a thought occurring to her as she continued to stare up at the shattered omega. 

“Oh, John, have you fallen in love with your husband?”

“No.” John whispered hoarsely, but the wobble of his chin told Ella all she needed to know.

“ _Oh, John_.” 

John slammed his eyes shut, unable to see the pity in Ella’s gaze and buried his face in his hands, bowing low as a torn raw cry broke through the silence and John finally gave in. 

“ _I don’t. I can’t. No… No… No…_ ” John sobbed. 

Ella’s nostrils flared, the overwhelming scent of anguish filling the room. John was a stubborn man, never really wanting to admit how helpless he felt, but now, John was giving in, exposing his vulnerability within the safety of her room. 

“It’s okay John. Just let it all out. You’re safe here. You can say anything. I’m not going to judge you.”

“He was supposed to be dominating and cruel.” John choked out miserably. 

“He wasn’t supposed to be submissive and tender.” John’s eyesight fogged, and no matter how he wanted to stop the tears from coming, he couldn’t stop them once they started.

“I _hated_ him. I hated him for _fifteen years_ , but everything changed when I met him. I want to hate him still. I want to hate him forever.”

“But you don’t.” Ella recognized. 

“I… don’t know if this is love, but…” John shook his head defiantly. No. He couldn’t do this. It would make everything hurt more, because Sherlock didn’t want him, not like Sherlock wanted that past lover. 

“You said he was going to try John, so maybe it’s time you confront him and find out how he truly feels.” 

John said nothing, he couldn’t speak anymore. His heart ached, throat sore from voiceless sobs. 

“John.” 

“ _Okay_.” John husked.

“Okay?”

“I’ll try…”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John came home that evening to find Sherlock experimenting with human tissue samples on the kitchen table. Sherlock was wearing a pair of blue striped slacks, a pale gray shirt and silk blue robe. Sherlock’s hair was a mess of curls, his fringe falling over his eyes as he selected another slide to examine and blew upwards, curls flicked back, but it wasn’t enough. Sherlock whipped his head back, effectively removing his fringe from his eyes and finally noticed John’s entrance.

“John.” Sherlock greeted with affection.

John said nothing; he couldn’t seem to muster up the courage to say anything. Closing the front door behind him, John leaned on it for support and watched as Sherlock bowed his head once more and proceeded to adjust the knobs of the microscope.

The memory of what John had said to Ella, of what she’d said, of what he’d realized seemed almost too much to process. 

“You’re beautiful.” John whispered, having not meant to speak, but still somehow the words escaped.

“What was that, John?” Sherlock asked, completely missing it.

John had said it many times, but never had it rang so true, nor held a deeper meaning than it did now. Sure Sherlock was gorgeous, but John didn’t just find his features to be pleasing to the eye. Sherlock was beautiful in the way he carried himself, the way he was always so gentle, open and nurturing to John, how he had his little quirks, how he seemed oblivious to the social norms, how his words were more clinical than appropriately acceptable, how he sometimes said ‘Jawn’, instead of ‘John’, how he always seemed to sense his moods and do all in his power to strengthen it and amend it, and so many other ways.

“ _You’re beautiful_.” John repeated, his voice shook, hoarse from having cried earlier.

Sherlock’s raised his head to stare back up at John when he detected the gruffness of it. 

“ _John?_ ” Sherlock asked curiously, worry filling the roundness of his call.

“Beautiful.”

“Is something the matter?” Sherlock disregarded the complement when truly taking him in; pale, eyes puffy and red, but still the deepness of blue stared on with determination.

“So beautiful.”

“John…” Sherlock said with concern when John began trembling against the door. 

John couldn’t take the steps to Sherlock, though that was all he wanted to do at that very moment. He was trembling so much, full of nervousness. 

_I would marry you again if I could—if you asked me. I’d acknowledge you, and I wouldn’t detest our vows. I’d place on your wedding ring with all the kindness I posses. I wouldn’t get drunk, because I would like to dance with you all night._

“What’s the matter?”

_I want to kiss you._

“John?”

_I wish I could take back all the cruel words I’ve ever said to you._

“John.” Sherlock spoke insistently, standing from his chair and staring alarmed when John raised a hand to his mouth.

A choked sob broke from John and tears immediately materialized.

“John!” Sherlock rushed for him.

John opened his arms the moment Sherlock stopped before him and yanked him against his chest, holding on to him for dear life. 

“ _John!_ ”

John buried his head against the crook of Sherlock’s neck, tears smearing, breaths coming out short and pained.

“Sherlock.” John whimpered, one hand fisting the back of a silk robe, the fingers of his other hand running through soft tresses and fisting a handful of hair with desperation.

“John.” Sherlock cooed, soothing, no longer seeking answers, realizing John couldn’t possibly tell him in that moment.

_I’ve been so cruel to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. You deserved none of the cruelty I’ve given. Sweet, soft, slow has been you’re cherishment and I couldn’t see it, never recognized it. I’ll change. I swear I’ll change. I’ll… make you forget that person and want only me. I’ll make you mine._

“John… please, don’t cry.” Sherlock whined, feeling helpless, unsure what to do to calm John. A tentative hand pressed against John’s back and gracelessly ran over John’s back, Sherlock’s other hand cradled the back of his head, bringing him in closer and allowing John to lean heavily against him.

John bit the bottom of his salty tear stained lip and mewled weakly.

_I’ll be open. I swear to God, I’ll be open. I’ll let you in completely. I promise you, I’ll accept you as my husband and alpha. I don’t care that you’re an alpha anymore. I’ll change and you’ll never feel the pain of rejection. You’ll be mine. Soon you’ll see I can be a good omega to your alpha and you won’t ever need someone else. You’ll want to be mine._

“ _Sherlock_.” John hiccupped, attempting to kiss his pale neck and broke the kiss on a breathless sob. 

Sherlock just squeezed John tighter, until it hurt, but it still felt good to John. He felt safe.

_Hold me. Hold me tight. Never let me go. I’ll never let you go, Sherlock. God help me, I don’t think I can survive without you._

“It’s okay, John. It’s okay.” Sherlock pacified.

_It’s not okay, but it will be. I promise you, Sherlock. I’ll fix what I’ve broken. I’m damaged, but I won’t let that tear down our marriage anymore than it has. I won’t let my past, nor let yours destroy our bond._

“ _Beautiful Sherlock… My beautiful alpha…_ ” John throatily wept, nuzzling his alpha’s neck, scenting the shock and worry radiating off of Sherlock, but knew he’d fix it along with everything else he’d messed up, given enough time.

  



	18. Chapter 18

Something was off… 

Sherlock couldn’t quite place it, but John wasn’t acting the same since that evening he’d come home an emotional mess. John didn’t do emotions, not like a normal person. He was too stubborn for that. Instead, John liked to bury it all inside and deal with it alone. Never did he seek Sherlock’s comfort or support, no matter if that was all Sherlock wanted.

Only… When John arrived a trembling mess, evidence of having cried and began sobbing uncontrollably, Sherlock couldn’t ignore it. Even if John ended up rejecting his comfort, he wouldn’t stop trying. He’d never thought John would clutch to him desperately and accept his comfort so willingly. 

John cried, face buried against Sherlock’s neck, scenting messily. As John’s sobs softened, tears slowing, John insistently nosed his neck, hands stroking at his back with more fondness and care than John had ever demonstrated. Sherlock’s face heated, ashamed of himself when with the needing caresses John laid on him, his libido spurred to life. 

John inhaled noisily and Sherlock cleared his throat uneasily, knowing the omega scented it. 

“John.” Sherlock attempted. Wanting to understand what in the world caused John to lose himself in such a way.

“Sherlock.” John cut in, pulling away enough so that he could stare up at him.

John’s face was blotchy, cheeks flushed, eyes red and puffy, lashes dampened from tears and deep blue staring at him in a way they’d never stared at him before. John stared at Sherlock with wonder and such warmth.

“ _Sherlock_.” John said his name with more care than he’d ever done before, then John whimpered, diving forward and connecting their mouths.

John tasted of tears, smelled of him, and kissed with keenness. Sherlock opened his mouth slowly, eyes open staring at John’s closed eyes, brows knitting together as he kissed John back. Analyzing the way John kissed him with less hesitancy, less of hunger, more of despairing need. Sherlock eyes lowered to John’s red nose as he inhaled, tongue grooving along his own, scenting him, almost revering. 

Sherlock tried to get into it, but John’s emotional overload was sending him in so many different directions and he was truly stumped. 

John whimpered again, less needing and in pain; that struck Sherlock deep in the heart. John broke the kiss immediately and drew back. 

“No… _No_.” Sherlock hurriedly breathed repentantly, diving back and claiming John’s lips in an apologetic kiss.

_Analyze later, kiss and comfort John now._

John began crying into the kiss and Sherlock knew he’d screwed up. When John needed his affection he’d mentally withdrawn from the kiss, leaving it bare of the care John had sought. John broke the kiss again, bowing his head and palmed his mouth, trying to muffle the hiccupping gasps escaping.

John whispered something to himself, beyond his hand, it sounded something like, _“You can’t forget them.”_ , but Sherlock wasn’t absolutely sure that was it.

Sherlock drew John back into his arms, pressing adamant kisses to his forehead, but John went limp in his arms.

“I should wash up.” John murmured faintly, shoving Sherlock away with more force that he’d expected and Sherlock remained kneeling on the ground watching, pained when John rose from the floor and stumbled away.

Sherlock’s hands balled into fists, knowing John sensed the momentary detachment, “ _John…_ ”

Sherlock eventually moved to stand in the narrow hallway of the flat, outside the bathroom, listening to the shower running and remained. Contemplating what on earth could have upset John so much, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure it out.

The shower shut off and Sherlock heard the dull movements John made within the bathroom, several minutes later the door opened and John exited with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

Sherlock stared up at John expectantly. John stared back wordlessly for long moments in time, then puffed out a breath, stepped up close, kissed Sherlock on the lips chastely and went to the bedroom to change. 

Sherlock followed after John, persistent and regretful. John wasn’t saying it, but he knew he’d messed up. 

John didn’t change within the privacy of the closet or bathroom as he normally did. He changed in clear view of Sherlock, strange. John discarded the towel in the hamper in the closet then slipped into the bed.

Sherlock shrugged off his robe, threw it over the dresser and joined John in bed. John was already waiting for him in the middle. Sherlock wrapped John into his arms and even knowing that it was early evening, he decided to turn in early, just so that he could be beside John.

John fell asleep soon after Sherlock curled up close and their hands met to splay over the soft swell of his belly.

The next day was when things _really_ began to change. Sherlock woke to find John’s side of the bed empty, but the scent of frying eggs told him his omega was preparing their breakfast.

Sherlock met John in the kitchen after readying himself for the day. He intended to meet Molly after breakfast. She’d texted him early in the morning to let him know she had two pairs of human lungs for him. 

The moment Sherlock entered the kitchen John was setting two plates of eggs and toast on the table. Dark blue lit up at the sight of him.

“Morning, Sherlock.” John greeted, quickly moving to meet Sherlock with a brief hug and a chaste kiss. 

Sherlock’s lips parted with surprise and he gawked at John as he pulled away to seat himself at the table.

“Coming?” John asked tenderly when Sherlock had yet to move.

_Odd… Very odd._

Sherlock ate his breakfast slowly, not really hungry, but knowing it would upset John if he didn’t eat. Still, his eyes wandered to John every so often, brows tensed with bewilderment. 

When they’d finished breakfast, John took their plates and began cleaning up while Sherlock prepared some tea. When the tea was finished, John assisted Sherlock in pouring their cups and even preparing Sherlock’s tea the way he liked it.

They drank their tea in moderate silence. John’s eyes closed, mug held in his hands near his mouth, poised to take another sip while Sherlock continued to analyze the omega.

John finished his tea first, smiled up at the silently brooding Sherlock, stood from his chair, set his mug in the sink and rounded the table to stand beside Sherlock.

“I’ll just head for the shower now; leave your mug in the sink. I’ll clean it later.” John spoke softly, palmed Sherlock’s cheek, raising the alpha’s head to stare at him fully before leaning down and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then John turned and left. 

Sherlock made a noise, something between a gasp and a whine. 

_Odd…Very, very odd._

Sherlock set his mug in the sink and left John a note explaining he’d gone to the morgue and would be back soon. 

When Sherlock returned to their flat with an icebox of human organs, he found John seated in his red chair reading a book. John smiled up at him, glanced over to the icebox and said, “Another experiment.”

John hated his organ experiments, especially now that he was starting to suffer from morning sickness.

Sherlock frowned.

“What’s going on?” Sherlock asked as he set the icebox on the kitchen table and spun to stare accusingly at John.

“What do you mean?” John asked innocently and it irked Sherlock. 

“You’re acting… nice.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” John snorted.

“Yes!”

John’s brows rose with surprise, not expecting that.

“It is?”

“Yes, it is. You… You don’t do nice. Civil, tolerant, and accepting, somewhat, but you are _never_ nice.” Sherlock answered honestly, though it was a painful truth, it was based off facts. John’s behavior as of late was something so foreign and it set Sherlock on edge. It frightened him. 

John being overly nice could only mean one thing… he was deflecting, hiding his true feelings and that worried Sherlock so deeply, more than this Moriarty the cabbie had mentioned moments before his death. John came home a complete emotional wreck the night before and now… now he was acting so… so _not John_. Sherlock wanted his moody, hesitant, withdrawn John back. That John he was familiar with, that John he knew. This John… This one made no sense.

John set his book on the armrest of his chair, stood to his feet and joined Sherlock in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry for that. I’ll be more agreeable.” John answered, completely missing the point and wrapped his arms around a stunned Sherlock and brought him into an almost loving embrace.

Sherlock bit back a whine. He felt helpless. John nuzzling his neck and scenting him made Sherlock’s stomach flutter with butterflies.

_I don’t understand you._

Though Sherlock couldn’t understand the change in John, he couldn’t resist enfolding him in his arms and embracing the shorter man just as tightly as his omega held onto him, and then he proceeded to scent John back. 

John’s behavior became increasingly worse, in that John became all the more nice. John routinely began cleaning Sherlock’s science equipment, polishing his violin, oiling his bow, taking Sherlock’s clothes to the dry cleaners and picking them up, buying Sherlock’s favorite biscuits from his favorite French bakery clear across town, assisting Sherlock putting on his coat and scarf before he’d head out the flat, and it only got worse. 

It seemed that every ten minutes or so would pass before John would place a token of affection on an unsuspecting Sherlock. A brush of an arm against Sherlock’s own, a gentle caress of a hand over Sherlock’s, full blown hand holding, even when out in public, _even_ when in clear sight of the NSY. John had even audaciously taken hold of Sherlock’s hand while he was in the middle of deducing a crime scene in front of a room full of NSY officials. Anderson, Sally, and Lestrade had gawked with astonishment. Sherlock had managed to recover far more quickly and finished his deductions while staring back at a fondly smiling John, scrutinizing him with an intensity he didn’t know he had in him. Sherlock never pulled away, even when he felt the situation and location were poorly chosen. 

When alone, John’s touches became positively amorous. John planted numerous kisses on Sherlock, one for when greeting in the morning, another after meals, a firm one when one of them left the room and another one when meeting again, one when Sherlock said something that pleased John, kisses at the nape of his neck when Sherlock kindly made them tea, a kiss to the temple when Sherlock was focused on an experiment or working hard to solve a case.

The kisses in public were far more embarrassing and startling. A kiss to the hand when entering or exiting a cab, a kiss to the cheek when John said Sherlock’s scowl was too adorable not to kiss away, a kiss on the lips when Sherlock said something malicious and demeaning to Anderson and Sally when they tried to insult John. Sherlock squawked the first time John did it and heard several officers snicker in the background. Sherlock mumbled something along the lines that John didn’t need to thank him in such a way, but John just smiled kindly and kissed him again, firm and long. Lestrade then cleared his throat and Sherlock refocused on their work. 

Sherlock decided to push the limits of John’s comfort and began walking around the flat bare as the day he was born. The first time Sherlock walked out of their room naked and up to John who was cleaning up Sherlock’s mess of a failed experiment, Sherlock felt victorious. John’s face turned red. 

“Sher… Sherlock.” John whispered taken aback, neck and ears going just as red as his face.

“Didn’t you know, John? I’m an in home nudist.” Sherlock drawled seductively. 

_Take that, John. Be nice now? You can’t, can you?_

John leaned against the door frame of the kitchen and swallowed audibly, scanning over Sherlock’s form.

Sherlock felt heat begin to blossom on his own cheeks. John was ogling. Sherlock hadn’t expected that. Clearing his throat of the awkwardness of the situation, Sherlock moved passed John and seated himself in John’s red chair.

“ _Sherlock._ ” John whimpered. 

“Yes, John?” Sherlock asked kindly, inwardly proud of himself when seeing the hesitancy of the old John he knew well.

“My… chair?”

“Obviously, John. I couldn’t sit in the leather one. It’d be rather cold.” 

“There’s the couch.”

“There is the couch, yes.” Sherlock didn’t want the couch. 

Sherlock scented the arousal kindled and smiled brightly when John became more reserved and unsure of himself, the persistence of this act John had been playing faltered in the presence of Sherlock’s unexpected nakedness.

_How does it feel?_

John muttered something about going to get some groceries and quickly left the flat.

Sherlock rose from John’s chair and headed back to their room, intent on putting on some clothes now that his work was done, and smiled smugly. 

_Perfect. I’ve found my way to break this strangeness of yours._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was trying to drive John crazy, prancing around the flat in the nude. After the first time, Sherlock kept doing it. It became a daily routine, Sherlock walking around the flat naked, but much, much, _much_ worse than the first time.

Sherlock started touching John while he was naked. A brief palming of his cheek, a kind word, and a kiss, sitting himself beside John on the couch when he was watching the television and wrapped an arm around him, pressing up against John’s back and wrapping him up in his arms while John cooked, so that John could feel the hardness of Sherlock pressing against his ass. 

John could hardly resist Sherlock as it was, but he couldn’t give in. Not yet. He had to play his role. Keep being the good little omega for his alpha, make Sherlock want him, love him, then he would give in fully. Hold Sherlock close, feel the strength of his alpha, the fullness of him as he claimed him. 

John couldn’t give in. Not now. Not until he was sure Sherlock loved him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John lay on the medical bed, while Sherlock paced the room impatiently. Smiling up at Sherlock John felt warmth blossom in his chest.

“Calm down.”

“I am calm!” Sherlock sniped; spinning around to glare down at John, but immediately after, Sherlock was rushing to his side guiltily and taking hold of his hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, John. I’m just…” Sherlock bit his bottom lip, hesitating on the word, not wishing to admit how he really felt, but John knew.

“Nervous? I know. I am too.” John confessed softly. 

“You don’t look it.” Sherlock observed sullenly. 

John laughed nervously and pressed Sherlock’s hand over his chest, allowing the silently panicking Sherlock to feel his racing heart. 

“ _Oh_.”

“Mm.”

“Sorry.”

“Mm.” John leaned forward and Sherlock bent low to meet him in an innocent kiss. 

No matter that John was trying hard to earn Sherlock’s love and effectively unsettling Sherlock, or that Sherlock was driving John up a wall touching him affectionately while naked; John and Sherlock dropped their efforts in the face of more serious matters.

There was a knock on their door and a moment later John’s childhood gynecologist entered the room. An elderly woman entered, silver curls pulled back in an elegant French braid, kind green eyes sparkling in the brightly lit room.

“John, it’s so good to see you again. This must be your alpha. Hello, I’m Doctor Kathryn Levy.” Dr. Levy greeted, shaking Sherlock’s hand before moving to stand in front of John’s spread legs and seating herself on the stool.

“I know you must both be nervous, but I assure you this is all normal.”

John nodded happily, feeling safe in Dr. Levy’s hands. She’d always been so warm and caring towards John since he’d first met her at thirteen years of age. He felt she was the best doctor they could have. 

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand as Dr. Levy began to set up the equipment and looked up at them.

“Sherlock.” John whispered, catching Sherlock’s attention and managing to get his eyes to break away from Dr. Levy so that he could stare at him.

“It’s going to be fine. This happens all the time. We’ll get to see out pups.”

“What if…”

“No what if’s Sherlock. I’m healthy. You’re healthy. You’ve been taking such good care of me and I’ve been careful.”

“ _John_.” Sherlock murmured, leaned down to nuzzle John’s hair and scented him.

Alpha pheromones thickly filled the room and John almost gagged by the potency of it. John whined softly, though he relaxed under the scent of his alpha’s pheromones, he could still feel the anxiety in Sherlock. 

John took Sherlock’s hand in both of his and pressed kind kisses to his knuckles as Dr. Levy lubed up the wand in her hand.

“John, can you scoot closer to me?”

John nodded and moved further down; until Dr. Levy nodded her head with approval.

“Now this might feel a little uncomfortable, but I’ll go slowly.” Dr. Levy then began to insert the wand and John hitched a breath.

John looked up at a wide eyed Sherlock, and smiled up reassuringly when seeing the concern that was there. 

“Everything looks good.” Dr. Levy said, staring up at the screen and shifting the wand.

“Can you see them?” Sherlock asked.

Dr. Levy smiled, tapping something on the computer and nodded. Moving the monitor screen enough so that Sherlock and John could see it, she pointed to something on the screen.

“You see these little things here that look like jelly beans, those are your pups. I count seven, but there could be one or more hiding behind another baby, it's normal with large litters.” Dr. Levy said. 

“ _Seven? Could be more?_ ” Sherlock repeated dumbfounded. 

“Seven pups.” John laughed heartily.

“Yes, septuplets. They look healthy. See these things over here?” Dr. Levy pointed to four small forms sticking out from one fetus.

“Arms... Legs.” John choked wetly; swallowing back the lump in his throat, noticing all the little pups had them.

“Yes.”

“Sherlock.” John called softly and felt lips pressing against his head of hair once more.

“Our pups. Seven, John, _seven pups_.” Sherlock chuckled roundly, voice trembling on sentiment. 

Sherlock’s lips pressing into his head of hair felt warm, and John shut his eyes when they overflowed with tears. 

“Now in ten weeks you’ll get to hear their heart beat. You’ll be able to take photos with you today too.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Levy.” John rasped as Sherlock’s free hand threaded through his hair and massaged his scalp tenderly.

“ _John_.” Sherlock hummed adoringly, kisses raining down on John’s face.

“Congratulations.” Dr. Levy glanced over to the affectionate couple staring at each other, love clearly written in their eyes and she knew they’d cherish their children.

  



	19. Chapter 19

John woke up early the next morning. It was his day off and, instead of spending it sleeping in, John decided to get ready for the day. He hadn’t really made plans for today, but after their visit with Dr. Levy the day before, John felt energized. Instead of staying in bed with a slumbering Sherlock, John headed for the kitchen and prepared them breakfast. 

Since he was up earlier than usual, and feeling refreshed after his shower, John put more effort into the meal he prepared for them. It didn’t take him long to prepare them homemade strawberry waffles, eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice. When he’d finished preparing their meal, John headed back over to their bedroom. 

Slipping under the covers of their bed, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s lean waist and tucked his head in the crook of the taller man’s neck. Sherlock shifted in bed, released a deep contented sigh and leaned back into John’s welcoming arms.

“You’re up early.”

“Mm,” John hummed, smiling against porcelain flesh, “I made waffles.”

“I can smell them... Strawberry?”

“Yes.” 

“What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing really, just wanted to.” 

Sherlock shifted again, craning his head and tilting it back to look up at John.

“You’re chipper today, aren’t you?”

“Mm.” John hummed eagerly, nosing Sherlock’s nose with his own in an Eskimo kiss.

“You should get up and come have breakfast while it’s still hot. After, maybe we could go out.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Sherlock was amused.

John rolled his eyes, released Sherlock of his hold, and got off the bed. 

“We’re married.” John said, feeling slightly uneasy with the possibility of it. 

“Married couples go out on dates.” Sherlock rationalized. 

“Yes… Well… Come and have breakfast.” John stuttered before leaving their room and going back to the kitchen.

The moment he’d sat down, Sherlock entered and took the seat across from him. The two said nothing as they ate, but John could tell Sherlock spent most of his time staring up at him curiously, as if still trying to understand the change in John.

“I was thinking we could go shopping and get a few things for the nursery.” 

“Oh?” Sherlock was surprised by John’s desire, but the surprise gave way to heartening affection. 

“You don’t mind, do you? I’m only two months pregnant, but I think it would be better if we got a head start on everything.” 

“I don’t mind.” Sherlock spoke softly, breaking eye contact to stare at his hand instead and John wondered if Sherlock felt as nervous as he did. 

They continued their meal in comforting silence and finished eating around the same time. John stood up just before Sherlock did and took their plates to the sink as Sherlock headed for the shower. 

After John cleaned up the kitchen mess, he shrugged on his coat, collected his wallet and keys and seated himself in the living room. John passed the time waiting for Sherlock to join him by reading one of the many books Sherlock owned. John had just finished a chapter when Sherlock entered the living room freshly showered and dressed in a fine suit; John set the book down and moved to stand.

“You look… I like that shirt.” John complimented as best he could, whenever Sherlock wore that purple dress shirt… God, Sherlock just looked all the more suave and appealing. John would love to run his fingers in Sherlock’s damp curled tresses, press his lips against that Cupid’s bow mouth, inhale that enthralling scent of his alpha, and let the moan of Sherlock’s name roll off his tongue before claiming Sherlock’s mouth with his own. 

John didn’t do any of those things. He couldn’t muster up the courage to do so, not when he didn’t know where he stood with Sherlock. Was Sherlock his? Or did Sherlock still long to have that unknown beta? 

John carried so many fears. His fears consumed his mind relentlessly. John worried that when he wasn’t with Sherlock, was he with that beta? Did Sherlock still keep in contact with them? Was this lover a woman or a man? Were they beautiful? Did Sherlock love them? Would Sherlock always love this beta? Would John only ever be second best? Would Sherlock stay with John out of obligation, but secretly see this beta? Would he have told this beta about John? Talked about how cruel John was? How John could never equal the beta?

John bowed his head, shut his eyes, sealing the dampness within, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t think like that. Sherlock promised him. Sherlock said he would be faithful and that he would make this marriage work, so John had to believe in him. To prove his worth, John had to trust Sherlock. He needed to show Sherlock he could be a worthy mate and Sherlock would reward him with his faithfulness and possibly… his love. John just had to be patient.

“Let’s head out.” John whispered weakly, voice soft, giving way to the tormenting thoughts raging within.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock and John took a taxi to a nearby mall. They spent the first few hours just window shopping. When they walked passed a small shop with baby strollers displayed at the front windows of the store, John grasped a hold of Sherlock’s hand, and smiled up at him, hopeful.

Sherlock smiled back, nodded shyly and the two finally mustered up the courage to enter one of the many baby stores they’d walked passed. Not a moment after they entered the shop did a petite young woman step over to them.

John immediately noticed the crisp looking pink uniformed button up shirt the woman wore and the nametag that read, ‘Mindy’.

“Hello, I’m Mindy, can I assist you today?”

John glanced over to Sherlock who didn’t bother validating the woman’s presence; he was too preoccupied staring at the large selection of baby bottles the store housed.

“Yes, thank you.” John answered civilly, relieved for the experienced assistance.

Mindy smiled, nodded her head and stepped over to Sherlock’s side, retrieving a particular box. 

“This is a brand new product that’s just been released.” Mindy started, pointing to the picture of a baby bottle on the front.

“It’s made from the newest technological materials developed by NASA. It’s also insulated and anti-bacterial. It’s a must have for any parent wanting to ensure the health of their baby.” 

“We’ll take it. You do deliver?”

“Yes, of course we do, but let me explain that these products, since it’s so high tech, each bottle has an expiration date, so I suggest you take a few more just in case—”

“We’ll take them all.” Sherlock gestured at the shelf.

“Sherlock.” John started.

Mindy nodded happily.

“Very good, sir.”

“Sherlock, our children will grow rather quickly, I don’t think we will need so much.” John started to reason with the enthused alpha.

“I want to provide the best for our pups, John. Let me.” Sherlock requested and John couldn’t refuse Sherlock, not when he flashed him those needing pale gray eyes.

John ducked his head in submission and said nothing more, only followed after Sherlock as Mindy led them further into the store and stopped by several baby bathtubs on a display shelf.

“I must recommend this nanotechnology bathtub. It has the best thermal ability of all the other brands out there.”

“Okay, we’ll take five.”

“Sherlock.” John complained, even though he’d resigned himself to let Sherlock have his way with this, five was just too many.

“Very good, sir.” Mindy chimed merrily. 

John exhaled a heavy breath and ran his hand through his hair because Sherlock wouldn’t abate. After they’d picked out the most important of equipment and necessities for their pups, Mindy left them to write up their orders and they wandered over to the infant clothing. 

Here, Sherlock allowed John to pick out what he liked. John chose out an equal amount of female and male baby clothing, and outfits that were universal in color and design. Sherlock picked out infant toys. John smiled fondly when Sherlock picked out a large white teddy bear wearing a fluffy blue tie wrapped around it’s neck. 

“I think that’s enough for today. We’ll shop some more later.” John laid his hand over Sherlock’s pale one holding the bear. 

Sherlock nodded with acceptance and offered keenly, “Lunch?”

John grinned and gave a sharp nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’d gone for Chinese for lunch and later John suggested they go for a walk in the park across the street and Sherlock was more than willing.

It was the later part of afternoon and early February. It was nice and cool, but not so cool enough to be unsettling. The sun casted a warm glow on the trees, and grass and people walked, exercised, and mingled around them. 

Glancing to Sherlock; eyes focused in front of him, face blank of any perceptible emotions, and hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, John bowed his head and sighed. He’d have liked to hold Sherlock’s hand as they walked, but Sherlock, the absentminded genius, couldn’t see that. 

“Let’s take a seat.” John said, gesturing to a nearby empty bench.

John seated himself and waited for Sherlock to join him. When he did, John’s lips pursed unhappily. Sherlock took to seating himself at his left, where the benches armrest worked as a divider between them.

John noticed rather quickly that he was the only one who demonstrated physical contact. Sherlock enacted a few, but far less so than John. John knew Sherlock cared about him. Did Sherlock love him though…? John didn’t think Sherlock did.

_Will Sherlock ever love me? Will he ever love me more than that beta? Would he have chosen to be with me if he wasn’t forced to? Will he be forever faithful? Will Sherlock stray when a beautiful, confident, and equally intelligent beta of his level comes into the picture?_

“Have you ever loved?” John blurted, a question held within for so long, somehow coming out of him without thought.

“What?” Sherlock breathed, head snapping away from staring off at the scenery and immediately scanning his features, attempting to read the feelings John hid within. 

Now that he’d asked, John wouldn’t back down. He pushed on, through the awkwardness.

“Have you ever loved…someone?” John whispered out the last part with trepidation, hating how his voice wavered. 

Sherlock remained silent for long moments in time. John lowered his eyes to stare at his feet, defeated. 

_Was that beta so sacred to Sherlock, he wouldn’t even speak about them with John?_

“I… John… I… You…” Sherlock put great efforts to voice his thoughts, brows furrowed, breathing heavily, unable to catch his breath when speaking about such a topic. It was so unlike Sherlock to splutter to such an extent, and it pained John. That beta must have meant the world to Sherlock if he couldn’t even bring about the words to talk about them.

“You have.” John spoke brokenly and folded his hands together over his lap, nails pinching at the skin of his knuckles, calming the tremor that wracked through him.

“I…” Sherlock still tried to voice his thoughts, but wasn’t able to project them.

“What does it feel like…to love someone?” John was curious, truly wanting to understand that kind of love. 

John loved his family, but to love a person of no relation… John was unfamiliar with that type of emotion.

Sherlock’s eyes were focused on John’s hands and the slight tremble they made. 

“Sherlock… I asked you a question.” John reminded, his voice was a mixture of wonder and annoyance, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I… don’t know how to explain it.” Sherlock finally admitted and with it stabbed John in the heart.

_So you have loved? You loved that beta? Would you have wanted to marry them? Would you still choose them, even now?_

“Try.” 

“John.”

“I want to know. Tell me… Please.”

Sherlock raised his head then, staring at the sky, as if searching for the answer.

“I… When I first fell in love… I couldn’t seem to breathe.”

“You couldn’t breathe?” John asked incredulously. 

Sherlock’s features softened, a fond, loving smile gracing his lips, that same sweet smile that John saw when the alpha stroked at the towel he’d thought he’d lost forever. John knew he was thinking about that beta now and John’s heart shriveled up to nothingness.

“I could breathe, _naturally_ , but I found it hard to… The beauty, the strength, the kindness and intelligence I saw in them… I never expected to feel so… consumed.”

John’s face flashed with pain, talking about this beta was too much, but John still needed to hear it. 

“It was love at first sight?”

“Not exactly… I’d gathered information about them before, but seeing them in person… It made things ever clear. I knew it was love, because I couldn’t see myself being without them. Love… To me, love means you can only be yourself when you’re with them, because they make you whole.” 

Sherlock faced John and whatever he saw in John’s eyes destroyed the contented smile upon his face.

“John.” Sherlock gasped sensitively, apprehensively and John tore his eyes away from staring at those paining blue staring back at him. 

“If that is what love is, then I’m glad I have never loved.” John grumbled angrily, staring across the park.

“Why would you say that, John?” Sherlock contemplated.

“I wouldn’t like for someone to have such an influence on me.” John remarked intolerantly. 

Sherlock didn’t say anything after that and John was glad. He didn’t have the strength in him to say anything else, because he’d lied. He’d lied about never feeling that way, because John didn’t think he could live without Sherlock in his life. He’d just be a shell of the person he was now without Sherlock. He’d tried to after Sherlock left him at the estate and John was miserable without Sherlock. 

That this feeling he had for Sherlock was love… John could scarcely believe it. But as Sherlock described love, John found he understood firsthand what it was to love. Yet, at the same time, John was angry—furious really. Sherlock loved this beta so completely, the same way John loved Sherlock. This was a destroying revelation, because if Sherlock loved this beta as much as John loved Sherlock, than it would mean that John’s love would forever be unrequited.

How could Sherlock possibly love John when he loved this beta with his whole heart? John’s brows furrowed with pain, unable to hide the agony that overwhelmed as his thoughts continued down a tormenting path of heartache and lifelong rejection to come. John truly was Sherlock’s obligation, his duty, and Sherlock was to forever be trapped in an unwanted marriage.

John shut his eyes tightly, inhaled a deep breath and bit his tongue to hold within a pained sob of grief. Sherlock couldn’t stay faithful to John, not forever. Sherlock would break, the love he had for that beta would call to him and Sherlock would find that beta and take him as his lover. The day would come that Sherlock would return back to their flat, or John would enter and he’d scent it on Sherlock, the scent of that beta and he’d know then he wasn’t enough.

John let out an abrupt broken whine, and without delay covered it with a forced cough before standing up and turning away from Sherlock.

“John?” Sherlock called, unease laced in his voice. Sherlock didn’t understand, he couldn’t see the pain John was hiding, but John was sure Sherlock scented his distress.

“I… forgot I’d made plans to meet with Harry.” John lied and this time when he looked behind him and to the now standing alpha, he knew Sherlock caught the lie. 

Whatever he found on John’s face must have kept Sherlock from calling him on the lie and refusing his request, instead Sherlock merely raised an inquiring brow, but gave a nod of acceptance. 

“I’ll be at the flat.” Sherlock spoke slowly, eyes moving erratically scanning John’s face for something.

John’s features hardened and he nodded grateful and without another word he fled from the wordlessly deducing alpha. John’s walk was brisk and full of purpose, purpose of creating distance.

Tears brimmed at the lids of his eyes the further he walked away from Sherlock and when he was far enough, John let the restrained sobs bubble out of him.

“Love. Love indeed, cruel and unrequited.” John whispered to himself. 

“Damn you Sherlock. Damn you and that beta to hell. You’ve destroyed this marriage and I can’t fix what you don’t want.” John whimpered, wiping the tears that fell with the sleeve of his shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John’s fist slammed solidly against the wooden door in front of him. His eyesight blurred with the overwhelming amount of tears fogging his vision. His sobs drowned out by the loud slamming of his fist on wood.

“I’m coming, damn it!” Came the irate call from beyond the door. 

The door swung open mid-knock and John was met by the sight of an infuriated Harry. The anger at once faded and was replaced by alarm and confusion.

“John?” Harry exclaimed.

John sobbed harder, took two steps inside the foyer before wrapping his arms around his sister and sobbing into her shoulder.

“Harry…” John wept, completely losing himself to the sorrow of his life.

His parents had destroyed him. His parents had matched him to an alpha that had broken his heart. He was to remain in a loveless marriage, birth children, raise a family and be in love with an alpha that would never love him. Sherlock didn’t love him. Sherlock tolerated him. Sherlock would love that beta. Oh, God, Sherlock would mate that beta and his status would forever be questioned. John would be Sherlock’s omega, but that beta would have Sherlock’s love and be the favorite. John would be mated every three months, but that beta would share Sherlock’s bed always and be the one Sherlock truly wanted.

“John!” Harry worriedly spoke, arms holding onto John tight as the omega’s knees gave way to such damning thoughts.

“He doesn’t love me.” John sobbed. “My love will remain unfulfilled. Harry my love will forever be unsaid and unwanted! My first and only love…will never be.”

John quaked in Harry’s arms and her words couldn’t quite reach John’s ears as images of his future life flashed in his mind’s eye. 

“It's okay, John.”

John would care for their children, stare at the clock, knowing Sherlock should be there with them, but instead he’d be with that beta.

“Shhh, John, it’s okay.” 

John would sleep alone in his room, knowing Sherlock would be holding and scenting another in another room.

“John, oh God, breathe.”

“I can’t breathe.” John sobbed, hyperventilating. “I can’t breathe without him!” 

John would spend his heats with Sherlock, feeling the alpha’s detachment even when they were so close, knowing Sherlock would rather be spending that time with that fucking beta. 

“John… John! You’re scaring me. What happened?”

John would watch Sherlock and that beta leave the flat for a date, smiling, staring at each other with love, and then stare down at their children. John would break, knowing their children would forever scent his pain and heartache.

“John!”

John moaned aggrieved sobs, tears smearing messily across his face; a hoarse broken howl of heartache burst forth and Harry cupped the back of his head and tucked John tightly against her scent gland. Alpha pheromones seeped out and effectively relaxing his body, but the heartbreaking sobs still came. 

John would hear Sherlock and that beta giggling within the alpha’s room, scent their love making and feel an overwhelming urge to retch. 

“I’m nothing.” John whispered softly, tears slowing in their progression.

“John.” Harry admonished.

“I’m nothing to him. I’m his duty, an obligation forced onto him. I might as well have never been born.”

“John!”

“What kind of life is this?” John shouted full of anger and misery. “I should have just died in Afghanistan.”

“No, John. Don’t say that.”

“I hate this.” John raged, wiping away the remaining tears and pulled away enough from his sister to stare into her anxious blue eyes. 

“I’m here.” Harry answered, taking hold of John’s hand.

John stared at the ground and exhaled weakly.

“I wish I could run away. I don’t think I can live like this much longer.” John whispered his silent wish. 

“Oh, John.” Harry said with sadness, squeezing his hand.

“He’s cheated on me. He said he’d be faithful, but he lied. He loves a beta. He's been unfaithful with his heart. It’s only a matter of time before his body betrays me.”

Harry’s eyes softened and without saying another word, she brought him in close, held him tightly against her and shushed him, as the tears started once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry somehow got John up to his feet and led him to her living room. There, John was seated on the sofa and Harry left him briefly to make him a cup of tea and bring out some fruit and biscuits.

John mutely drank his tea and ate some. 

Harry sat beside him silently watching him with concern.

“Do you think… Would the Holmes’ null the agreement if they knew?” 

John sent a wry smile and shook his head ‘no’. 

“They want me to produce kin. It’s unfair, but I’m an omega, bound. I could only run, but that would leave mum and dad open to a lawsuit.”

“What if I spoke to Sherlock?”

“He’s an alpha; he has the right to have lovers.” John spat out. 

“Still, it’s too cruel. You’re an omega; so many alphas would willingly stay faithful if they were bound to an omega. What can a beta give that an omega can’t give more of? You’re better than any beta. You’re an omega for Christ’s sake!” 

“Sherlock’s beta is apparently better than me.” John rasped, setting his cup down on the coffee table and burying his head in his hands. 

“Oh, John.” Harry cooed, moving closer and hugging John from his side, pressing her forehead against his shoulder as silent comfort.

“You’re a good sister Harry, when you’re not drunk.” John mused quietly.

“Thanks, I think.” Harry answered tersely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John returned home late. 12:56AM to be precise. John hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he finally did. He spent the evening talking with Harry. Later, Clair came home and the three talked some more, eventually John couldn’t talk anymore and just listened to Harry and Clair talk about less heartbreaking things. They’d lifted John’s spirits by the end of the night when John finally realized how late it was and said his goodbyes.

When John entered the flat he wasn’t expecting to find Sherlock sitting in the living room, waiting for him, but he was.

John shut the door and stared at Sherlock expectantly, waiting to hear what he had to say. Sherlock stood to his feet and stared angrily at John.

“You should have called if you were planning on staying out so late.”

“I will next time.” John answered tiredly, eyes downcast, not wanting to argue, not wanting to look at Sherlock, not wanting to be in the same room as the alpha and yet he did, and it was all so puzzling.

“John… What’s going on with you? One minute you’re okay, the next you’re sobbing in my arms, after you’re nice, and now… now you’re detached. Please, John, tell me what you’re thinking, because although I’m highly observant, I’m not a mind reader. I want to comfort you, I know something is bothering you, but for the life of me I can’t understand _what_ it is.”

_It’s your beta._

“There is nothing bothering me.”

“Don’t lie to me John.” Sherlock glared, although John didn’t want to argue, he could see that Sherlock would not back down this time, not until he got a sufficient answer, an answer John would not give.

_How can I tell you how I feel now? I know you will never love me and it would only make the tension in our marriage worse if you knew._

John sighed heavily and moved to seat himself in the red chair. Sherlock seated himself back in the leather chair and waited for an explanation. John leaned forward, pressing his arms against his knees and stared sadly up at Sherlock.

_I love you._

“I’m tired.”

“How so?” Sherlock sought elaboration.

_I wish you loved me._

“Of this marriage.”

Sherlock said nothing, but the hurt flashing in his pale gray eyes confused John.

“Why?”

_You love that beta._

“I’m unhappy.”

“Did I do something to make you unhappy?” Sherlock question was one of pain. 

_You’re a good man to care about my happiness, but you can’t make this marriage work when you can’t love me._

“It’s my fault. I… can’t accept the terms of our marriage.”

Sherlock’s eyes glistened, chin wobbling, and John wouldn’t have believed it if he didn’t see it for himself, but Sherlock’s mouth opened slightly and released a sharp whimper of anguish. 

“What can I do? Surely there is something I can do to right this inaccuracy.”

John smiled sadly and shook his head. His eyes dampening, but John would not cry, damn it. Not again. Not again in front of Sherlock.

“I want a divorce.” 

The agony that filled Sherlock’s eyes the second after John spoke his desire… John never saw that coming. Sherlock shot out of his seat instantly and began pacing the floor. 

“ _A divorce?_ ” Sherlock choked out.

“I can’t divorce you though, the agreement my parents signed long ago ruled that option out.”

“ _John_.” Sherlock pleaded hoarsely.

John buried his head in his hands and whimpered, “I’m so miserable, Sherlock. I’m trying, God, I am trying to make this work, but I can’t. You’re asking too much of me.” 

“What? What am I asking that’s too much? Is it the intimacy? We can stop. I promise. I won’t ever touch you again if you wish it so, just… just… don’t talk like _this_.” Sherlock hissed, fraught and John was bewildered.

“I… I don’t know how I can fix what can never be repaired.”

“John, answer me this, please…”

John lowered his hands and found Sherlock staring at him from across the room, body trembling erratically, breathing unsteady, eyes shimmering pools of need. 

“Do you like me?”

“You know the answer already.” 

“Answer me.”

“Mm, a lot.” John croaked frailly.

“I like you too.” Sherlock confessed.

John smiled forlornly. 

_I want your love. Why can’t you love me, Sherlock?_

“Stay with me then. Stay. I don’t need intimacy. I just need you and our pups. We don’t ever have to touch again. Just stay by my side.”

_You’re asking too much, again._

John said nothing, only stared sorrowfully at Sherlock, leaning over and pressing his head in his hands once again.

“You’ll need the intimacy, eventually. You’ll need a beta to fill the distance of our marriage.”

“Shut up!” Sherlock snarled heatedly.

John raised his head to frown at Sherlock.

“Fuck you, Sherlock. I’m stating truth. You have needs. You’re an alpha!”

“'I made vows to _you!_ I’m _your_ alpha! I told you before, I don’t need another lover!” 

“You’ll find a beta, one that makes it hard to breathe… One that makes you whole, and then I’ll have to endure it.” John laughed bitterly. 

_You’ll go back to that beta._

“I only want you!” Sherlock snapped, but John didn’t want to hear these lies.

John stood and turned to leave, but Sherlock rushed for him, moving to stand in his way. When John tried to go left and around Sherlock, the alpha countered him, when John moved right, Sherlock countered again.

“Sherlock!”

“No, John! Why won’t you believe me!”

“Because you’re an asshole!” 

“John!”

“No!”

“I like you!”

“I don’t care!”

“What can I do? John, please, what can I possibly do to make you believe me?”

“Sod off.”

“John.”

“Fuck you.” John growled, hands shooting out and grabbing the collar of Sherlock’s purple shirt and bringing him in close. “I _hate_ you.”

“John.” Sherlock uttered with astonishment.

John felt the tears fall then, slowly trailing down his flushed cheeks and John whimpered in sorrow.

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

_I love you. I love you so fucking much._

“I wish I’d never met you.”

_I wish I’d never met you and learned what love is._

“You pain in the ass.”

_You broke my heart._

“I want a divorce, but because I’m an omega, I must stay married to you.”

_I want a divorce, so I can run away and never witness the moment you break your word and go to that beta._

“You don’t know what it was like being raised an omega. I was bullied for years. They said so many hurtful things and it destroyed me, but it made me realize how one day I’d be here with you. A self-righteous shitty alpha who wants to fix his poor little broken omega, but in the end, you’ll leave me. You’ll find a beta that’s your equal and you’ll leave me.”

“John, no. No John. God! _I would never do that!_ ”

“How does it feel, huh? Do people stop and ask you that? What’s it like to bag yourself an omega? Did they ask about the bleeding? Did you tell them your good little omega waited for your fucking shitty ass?” John sneered, holding back the sobs, needing to destroy what little will in Sherlock there was.

“ _John_.” Sherlock whimpered.

John gritted his teeth when Sherlock didn’t lose himself to anger like he thought he would, instead Sherlock’s eyes overflowed and tears fell from his ashen white face.

“I hate you. I could never love an alpha.” John shoved Sherlock away and finally walked passed the trembling, sickly pale man.

John wiped at his tears wondering what the hell he was doing to them and instead of heading for their room, went upstairs to the spare room. John slammed the door shut and locked it, but he highly doubted Sherlock would come after him. Sherlock had looked so ill when he left him, he’d be surprised if Sherlock would be able to stand up for much longer. 

Lying down in bed, John raised the sheets and buried himself under them. Pressing his face into the pillow to silence the hiccupping cries that dispelled as he wept in the darkness of the room he’d resigned himself to sleeping in once more.

_I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry. I love you. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock. I love you. I love you. I love you. I'm in pain. My heart can't take this, but I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you..._

  



	20. Chapter 20

John hated feeling this way — helpless and out of control all at the same time. When in the army things were less muddled. His focus was on one objective and he had the respect of his comrades. He trusted those men with his life and would die protecting them, because his troop became his family. He lived with them, knew them as well as he knew himself, and he was driven to see them get through their tour and make it home to their families. 

John had thought about what it would be like when he finally returned home, how his alpha would treat him, and he spent many nights up worrying over such things. He never expected for things to turn out this way. Returning home an invalid caused him to become more pessimistic. John didn’t know Sherlock like he knew his comrades.

Being in combat, knowing how precious each moment was stopped all the bullshitting and had everyone being so open and honest with each other. John was certain he’d known his comrades more deeply than he knew his husband and wasn’t that the saddest of truths. 

John slowly rose from the bed and trudged down the steps with dread. Sherlock was seated in his leather chair much like how John had found him several hours earlier. John stopped on the landing and stared at the alpha in silence.

Sherlock looked pale, paler than what was normal for his complexion and that just wasn’t right. He looked ill. Pale silver eyes stared back at him, the lids of his eyes holding the only color in his colorless face. Sherlock’s lids were an angry red and puffy, eyes tired and clearly showing that Sherlock hadn’t slept at all.

John bowed his head guiltily; he’d been overly cruel because he was hurting himself. Hormones might have played a part in it, causing for him to overreact to an extent, but John didn’t feel sorry for what he’d said at the time. He still felt the pain of heartbreak, but in the light of day, John also felt grief for hurting the one person he loved so deeply.

“John.” Sherlock said John’s name with such authority and resignation that John was powerless to defy the alpha’s next request: “Sit here.”

Sherlock gestured to John’s reserved red chair and John hesitated momentarily before breaking the distance between them and sitting himself in the chair opposite of Sherlock.

“Are you composed enough to talk now?” 

John made a side glance to the front door, knowing he didn’t have to stay here and have the alpha talk to him like he was some child who’d had a tantrum. He could leave easily, but in the end he’d have to return. Sherlock was right, though he didn’t say it in so many words. He’d been a bit temperamental and rash the night before. 

“Good. Now, tell me the truth John. What is _truly_ bothering you.”

John said nothing. 

“You never clearly stated what was bothering you. You said things, _many things_ , but I’ve had the time to go over everything you said and I know it was you deflecting. You haven’t been honest with me and I need you to be. How else will I be able to help you if you’re not honest with me?”

John inhaled a deep breath, held it for a long moment, and then released it as well as setting free his disinclination. 

Sherlock wanted honesty? Fine, John would be honest in the way Sherlock would not.

“I know why you keep that fucking towel.” John hissed angrily.

Sherlock blinked, dumbfounded by the unexpected declaration.

“You… do?” Sherlock’s voice was frail and terror-stricken.

John shifted back in his seat and stared down at his hands lying limply on his lap. 

“You loved that beta and keep the towel as a token of the love you share.”

Sherlock stared at John remorsefully. “Is that what you’ve thought this whole time?”

John’s lips pursed in a deeply set frown, no answer was needed — It was apparent he had.

“Oh John… You must have… _Oh, I’m an idiot_. I shouldn’t have kept the truth from you, but I was terrified you’d… _John_ , listen to me, please. Let me explain everything first, then I’ll answer any questions you might have, but please try and understand why I did what I did.”

John gave a terse nod and waited for the alpha to continue.

Sherlock scooted close to the edge of his seat, stared John directly in the eyes, silver flecked with blue eyes pleading for understanding as Sherlock spoke once more.

“You’re right in a way. That towel, it is a token of the love I carry for that person, but that person doesn’t know how I feel. I never told them, because I know they don’t feel the same.”

_Unrequited love?_ John never, not once had he thought that the love Sherlock had for this beta would be unrequited. John knew it was horrible, but this new information made him happy. John felt a sense of relief.

“I… When I was ten—”

“Ten?” John blurted. 

_Good Lord, he’s loved this beta ever since he was ten?_

“When I was ten,” Sherlock continued, “I asked my brother to bring me a file containing this person’s private information, things about what they were like, what they did, what kind of person they were.” Sherlock paused, never breaking their gaze as he outstretched his hand and laid his large one over John’s.

“I received monthly updates about this person, but even after reading the first… I knew they were The One. I felt instantaneously drawn to them; someone who I knew would complement me in the best of ways.” 

It was painful to hear Sherlock talk about someone else with such fondness. John wanted to yank his hand from Sherlock’s, but it felt so nice and warm, John couldn’t muster up the will to do so.

“When I was twelve I asked Mycroft to take me to them. I wanted to see them so much, but my parents wouldn’t have allowed it. Mycroft did and… I saw him. He was beautiful, so beautiful and I wanted him then. I wanted to make him mine.”

_The beta was a man? Claim them as yours...? You’re too cruel to say that in front of me, Sherlock._

John found the will to tug his hand from under Sherlock’s. Sherlock frowned at the action, leaned back and away, but continued speaking. 

“I saw him play rugby. I wanted to know his scent, but I’d never met him in person and I couldn’t distinguish his scent from the many that were there, so… when he’d left the field, I swiped the hand towel he’d used to dry himself with. I imprinted on his scent and I went through my first rut. He’d awakened a side of me I didn’t know existed. This fascinating man, I loved him and I couldn’t wait to meet him again.”

John didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Hearing just how much Sherlock loved this man was too cruel a punishment, unrequited love it might be, but knowing the extent of Sherlock’s love for this man was excruciating.

“When I met him again, I learned only then how much he hated me. I realized he’d never love me. Tolerate me he did. Indulging my affections over time, but never would he love me. So I decided telling him about how I truly felt was meaningless. It would only create an even stronger tension between us and he’d feel overwhelmed. My only hope was for him to fall for me… but he didn’t. Then I contented myself in knowing that he at least liked me, and ‘like’ is more than enough for me. I’m okay with just having him liking me for the rest of our lives, because I would take anything he would be willing to offer.”

Sherlock’s voice had turned hoarse. John saw the sorrow in Sherlock’s eyes and he wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to rid Sherlock of the pain of unrequited love, because he knew firsthand the damage it could cause on the heart. 

“John, please understand why I kept this from you. I didn’t want to cause you any distress and if I’d known that was what I was doing, I’d have confessed earlier… John, this beta you speak of isn’t a beta… He’s an omega… My omega… My husband.”

John stared fiercely at Sherlock. What kind of sick joke was this? Sherlock was a fucking asshole if he thought… Sherlock’s eyes were sincere though. He’d never blatantly lied to him, but this—this was the cruelest lie he could have thought up.

“Why are you…? Stop this,” John pleaded, voice trembling as Sherlock remained ever constant, eyes never faltering, never demonstrating a tell of a lie, because he wasn’t lying and that was the most confusing part to come to terms with.

“I’m sorry you misunderstood my feelings John. Know this and believe me when I say it’s only you, it has only ever been you, and it will forever be just you.” Sherlock’s voice was round, choking back on the sentiment that was all but overflowing in his eyes.

“No… You can’t mean… No… How… _Ten?_ Jesus, _twelve?_ ” John went over all that Sherlock had said and still… he couldn’t accept it for truth.

“You love me?”

“I do.” Sherlock whispered beyond a stuttering breath.

“No.” John shook his head, “How?”

“I don’t know. I just do. You’re lovable John.”

“Mm.” John shook his head, unable to accept the truth.

“All this time… _All this bloody time_ … You should have said something sooner.” John exclaimed. 

“How could I when you so clearly hated me. You thought me an animal. You hated me because I was an alpha. You rejected every advance I made. You were cruel and distant. How could I tell you, John? How?”

John stood from his chair and shook his head again. 

“No. _No._ ”

“John.” Sherlock pleaded. “I wished I’d shown an interest sooner than I had, I would have learned how they were treating you in school, and stopped it before it’d gotten so bad. I didn’t know, and now you can never love me because I’m an alpha.” 

“What did you say?” John tensed. When Sherlock stared with question John elaborated, voice going monotone, void of any emotion. “You said you’d have stopped in sooner, the bullying? You…”

“I had Mycroft intervene and those betas pay for their crimes.” Sherlock clarified.

John felt the blood drain from his face. Good Lord, this whole time… John had been so cruel to Sherlock and he’d… Sherlock was the guardian angel John had wondered about. Sherlock got rid of those betas. Sherlock… because of Sherlock, John was alive now. If Sherlock hadn’t intervened when he had, he’d have taken his own life. Sherlock, _oh God_ , Sherlock was too good to him.

“You…”

John took a step away, eyes dampening, and thought about all the pain he’d caused Sherlock these four months. All the times John rejected Sherlock. All the cruel words he’d told him. 

“I don’t deserve you. You’ve been so kind…open. You aren’t an average man. You are more than I deserve. I’ve proved myself unworthy of you and still you love me? You’ve been an angel to me, protecting and watching over me. How did I repay the kindness you showed? I rejected you. I hurt you. How can I possibly accept you now? I feel so much shame. I don’t deserve you as a husband. I lost the right the moment I hurt you.” John murmured brokenly. 

How could he accept Sherlock now, knowing what he knew? John had proved himself an unworthy mate. Sherlock deserved better than him. He’d just end up hurting Sherlock again. John was too damaged to openly love Sherlock. John didn’t have the confidence to love Sherlock now, knowing what he knew.

“Don’t say that John.” Sherlock implored despairingly, standing up and moving to stand before John.

“I admonished you because you are an alpha. I called you an animal. I was so malicious. You showed me kindness and love and I rejected you so many times. I was hateful. I was vindictive. I was inhuman.”

“You didn’t know.”

“No, but I knew you were kind and… I purposefully was cruel because I wanted you to hurt like I was.”

“None of that matters now. That is the past. We can still work through this. You can make it up to me by staying with me and accepting me.”

“No.” John hurriedly wiped a stray tear and inhaled sharply.

“Why are you still fighting me? I told you how I feel, but I don’t expect you to feel the same. Just… stay.”

“Stay and what? Hurt you again? I will, we both know I will. I’m... not prepared to love. How can I love you Sherlock when I can’t love myself? How can I love you when I’ve hurt you so much?”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

John smiled weakly at Sherlock’s obduracy. 

“I made you cry.”

“It was nothing.”

“You love me even after?”

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t. Sherlock, I’m damaged goods.”

“You’re goods none the less.”

“You will accept me no matter what?”

“I will.” Sherlock took a half step to John, only inches separating them now and palmed John’s cheek in his hand. “I love you.”

“That’s the first time you’ve actually come right out and said it.” John mused despondently. 

“I’ll say it as often as you want to hear it.”

“I’m happy…” John breathed weakly, tears brimming the lids of his eyes, “but I can’t accept what I’ve done to you.”

“Just accept that I can.” Sherlock breathed at John’s temple before placing a chaste kiss there.

“If I am distant, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.” John acknowledged.

Sherlock hummed and kissed John’s cheek where another tear fell.

“You’ve done so much for me. Please don’t do anymore; I will never be able to pay you back in all my life. Please,” John sobbed softly, pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s lips as the alpha kissed him again. 

“ _Please_ , don’t do anything for me. I beg you; don’t make the debt I owe so much I’ll never be able to atone. Please.” John wept.

“No debt to owe, John.” Sherlock comforted, arms wrapping around John and bringing him in a tight embrace.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and held tightly to the back of his shirt, fingers gripping to the fine material and wrinkling it. 

“I love you.” Sherlock sighed, burying his nose in John’s hair and scenting him.

_I love you too._ John nodded with acceptance and held so strongly to Sherlock, he never wanted to let him go. 

“John?” Sherlock spoke a voiceless question hovering with the utterance of his name, and breaking the silence between them as he slowly pulled John away enough to meet his gaze.

“Mm?”

“You’ll share my room still?” Sherlock’s eyes were soft, full of innocence and hope.

John burst into a fit of laughter, not expecting Sherlock to ask him that, “God, _Sherlock!_ ”

“What?” Sherlock mumbled; offended John found amusement in a question he believed to be important. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John sighed warmly, pressing his nose against Sherlock’s scent gland and inhaled deeply, “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Sherlock murmured happily. 

“Mm.” John nuzzled Sherlock with keenness, losing himself to the scent of his alpha. 

_All this time you’ve loved me and I couldn’t see it. Sherlock… I don’t deserve you._

  



	21. Chapter 21

John knew Sherlock was bored. After such a lengthy string of interesting cases, it would be hard for Sherlock to deal with the dry spell. Sherlock was more than disappointed that Lestrade hadn’t called requesting his assistance. 

Sherlock, being so bored, he’d broken through John’s secured safety box, retrieved his gun and fired at the yellow smiling face spray painted on their wall… well that was a surprise. John had been upset, but more so at how Sherlock sent insults his way, apparently not too pleased about his ‘Lady in Pink’ blog that went viral and that John insulted him. John hadn’t meant it as an insult, not really, but Sherlock wasn’t pleased. Still… it was the solar system for Christ’s sakes! That was important information one should know, damn what Sherlock thought! 

John couldn’t stand the arguing and stormed off, so frustrated he’d gone to Sarah’s place. She worked in the clinic with him and John liked her well enough, though when they’d first met it was awkward. Sarah was a beta and John scented the attraction she had for him. Beta and Omega partnerships, although rare, were possible, but those partnerships always ended up in heartbreak when the omega was married off and mated to their promised alpha. Omegas didn’t mate outside of their marriage to their intended; if one ever did, it was considered a breach of the contract the omega’s and alpha’s parents had signed long ago. John was sure that somewhere, there had been an omega who bonded with a beta and the emotional turmoil that omega must have dealt with would have been excruciating once they’d been married to their intended. John couldn’t even think about being with someone else, it just felt wrong. John wasn’t interested and Sarah realized this quickly enough. John was pleased that a friendship blossomed between them.

John and Sarah went out for lunch sometimes and John enjoyed their conversations. Sarah was a sweet woman and John did hope that one day she would find someone to fill the emptiness in her heart, but that could never be him. 

Sherlock was all John wanted. Sherlock was his husband, alpha, and the father of his pups. John was an omega and forever loyal to Sherlock. John still got frustrated with Sherlock and, unable to deal with Sherlock’s mood swings, he’d headed for Sarah’s and she’d kindly offered to let him sleep on her sofa. John couldn’t quite fall asleep, he felt guilty for having come to Sarah’s flat instead of just dealing with Sherlock’s prissy-ness. 

Sarah’s home smelled off: it didn’t comfort him, not like the flat he shared with Sherlock, and it took John forever to fall asleep. When John woke up the next morning, Sarah greeted him before heading for the shower and John switched on the television. The news of a bomb having gone off at Baker Street had John up and out the door in seconds.

He’d rushed home and bounded up the steps two at a time, crying out for Sherlock with no answer, fear and worry seizing his heart. They shouldn’t have argued, damn it. John hated arguing. He should have just ignored Sherlock’s snide remarks and stayed. Sherlock was just being a prissy git, and John knew it didn’t matter; there were more important things than a bloody blog. He shouldn’t have left.

When John entered the flat he hadn’t expected to see Sherlock and Mycroft sitting across from one another. 

“John.” Sherlock greeted dully, as if everything was fine, as if there hadn’t been an explosion, though the flat was a mess. 

Mycroft for that matter looked hardly concerned, though John couldn’t understand why. Sherlock must have been home when the explosion took place, was it just him? How was everyone fine with this?

“I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?” John was winded; he hadn’t had enough time to catch his breath after running like mad to the flat. 

“Me? What? Oh. Yeah. Fine. Gas leak. Apparently.” Sherlock summarily answered, focus back on Mycroft.

John shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, he needed to calm his nerves first, catch his breath second, then he’d throttle Sherlock. 

Sherlock didn’t seem to notice or care when in the face of his arch nemesis. Reclined in his leather chair, and striking the cords to his violin with malice.

“I can't.” Sherlock declined.

“Can't?”

“The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time.”

“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.”

“How's the diet?” Sherlock snarled.

“Fine.” Mycroft hissed, “Perhaps you can get through to him, John.”

John snapped his head in their direction. Now, they were acknowledging him?

“What?”

“I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent.”

“If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?”

“No, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so… Well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this, it requires... legwork.”

“How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?” Sherlock asked, changing topics, voice dull, yet John scented the antagonism silently brewing.

John ducked his head guilty. Staying the night at Sarah’s had been innocent, but the omega within felt as if he’d betrayed Sherlock.

“Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.” Mycroft intervened, sensing the tension and in his own way, trying to amend it.

“Oh yes, of course.” Sherlock answered acrimoniously, staring intently at the strings of his violin, drawing inward.

John wondered if Sherlock had felt John’s absence as strongly as he’d felt Sherlock’s. 

“How— Oh never mind.” John realized that didn’t matter. 

“Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became _bonded_. What's he like to live with? Hellish, I would imagine.” Mycroft smirked, being his natural prattish self. 

_Trying to get a rise out of me. It won’t work._

“I'm never bored.” John responded calmly. 

“Good. That's good, isn't it?”

When Mycroft rose and Sherlock flicked his bow warningly, John grinned softly. Sherlock was just so marvelously eccentric. 

Mycroft then moved to stand before John, explained in detail the case he wished Sherlock to take and hoped John would convince the genius to do so. When Mycroft was gone, he was astounded to find Sherlock had lied, but Sherlock and Mycroft had a sibling rivalry going that was both fascinating and ridiculous. 

John was both amazed and relieved when moments later Lestrade called Sherlock and summoned the consultant. Regardless of their tiff, John was eager to help Sherlock. They’d get through the tension as they worked the case. It wasn’t a horrible argument. Just Sherlock and his ego having taken a blow and the genius being a complete arse because John had said the truth—on their very popular blog - but John’s offense was far less severe than Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock was still trying to annoy him throughout the case: the pink cell phone, asking John to get his phone out of his coat pocket he was wearing, requesting John’s deductions of the shoes, sending him out to deal with Mycroft because he couldn’t be bothered to, lying to a grieving wife about her missing husband (John was sure that hadn’t been done to tick him off, so much as to get information, but it still agitated John, because Sherlock was such a good liar and that frightened him somehow), and so many more. John wasn’t going to bite. John wasn’t going to lose his cool.

John wasn’t going to let Sherlock know that his spite was boarding on ridiculous now or that he was tiring of it, because he didn’t want to argue. Arguing only meant that Sherlock would become angry. John would just wait Sherlock’s frustration out. Sooner or later Sherlock would realize this was all pointless and back off.

Sherlock did, finally give in; he’d moved closer to John, observing him from the concern of his eye.

“You look haggard. When’s the last time you ate?”

John paused, having to think about it and Sherlock made a noise of disapproval.

“Come, John. We’re getting something in that belly of yours. It’s not just you we need to worry about.”

_Then why act like an arse?_

John frowned, but followed after Sherlock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Feeling better?” Sherlock asked.

John ate another bite of his meal, stomach feeling calmed of its aching burn now that he had some food in him. 

“Mmm. We've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started. Has it occurred to you—?”

“Probably.”

“No, has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid's shoes. It's all meant for you.” 

“Yes, I know.”

“Is it him then? Moriarty?”

“Perhaps.”

After that, the cases seemed to get all the more complex. The Golem was the worst of it all; John hadn’t dealt with hand to hand combat for a while, and the Golem was a huge bloke. Sherlock attempted to take on the Golem alone, but it was too much for even him. John fought with the Golem when Sherlock was down for the count and protected his stomach at all costs, but that left his legs and head open for the brunt of the man’s attacks and when they’d finally been freed of the Golem, John’s head was spinning. He’d immediately felt the gentle, insistent touch of Sherlock’s hands, heard his calming voice. Sherlock wanted to take him to the hospital, but John knew the case was more important. John reassured Sherlock he was truly fine. He was a doctor and knew his body could handle it. If he even suspected his pups were in danger he’d go to the hospital, but as it was, John would have some bruises and a killer headache, but his pups were fine. Sherlock didn’t leave John’s side after that, always having John within eyesight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John had to refrain from smiling as Sherlock sat in his leather chair watching one of those God awful talk shows.

“ _No! No! No!_ Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans.”

“Knew it was dangerous.”

“Hm?”

“Getting you into crap telly. You give Mycroft the memory stick yet?”

“Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood. Again.”

“You know I'm still waiting.” John tried not to sound too smug.

“Hm?”

“For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.”

“Didn't do you any good, did it?”

“No, but I'm not the world's only consulting detective.”

“True.” Sherlock smiled. 

“I won’t be in for tea. I’m going to Sarah’s.” John said as he shut the laptop. He’d made plans to meet up with Sarah. John knew he wouldn’t ever stay the night at Sarah’s again: Sherlock hadn’t liked it, no matter if he didn’t come right out and say it, but Sarah was still his friend and he liked having the freedom and Sherlock’s trust to go out and meet with other people. 

“There’s still some of that risotto left in the fridge.” John said caringly, stepping to Sherlock’s side of the chair and placing a tender kiss to his temple before heading for the door. 

“Ah, milk, we need milk.” John suddenly remembered.

“I’ll get some.” Sherlock quickly offered, utterly surprising John.”

Sherlock never went shopping for groceries, that had always been John’s task, but it was still nice to hear.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And some beans then?”

“Mmm.” Sherlock hummed, still staring at the telly.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.” John promised before he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Brought you a little, _getting to know you_ present. Oh, that's what it's all been for isn't it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this.”

John closed his eyes, inhaled a shaky breath and stepped into view, staring at Sherlock helplessly, jaw tensing with the severity of their situation. 

“Evening. This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?”

John saw the disbelief in Sherlock’s eyes, the sense of betrayal and his stomach roiled, unsettled. 

_Our pups, Sherlock. Dear God, our pups._

“John. What the hell?” Sherlock was many things: angry, upset, and bewildered.

“Bet you never saw this coming. What would you like me to make him say next? Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' geer. Gottle o' g—”

A spark of understanding and horror flickered in Sherlock’s eyes before he spoke clearly, “Stop it.”

“Nice touch this, the pool. Where little Carl died. I stopped him. I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.” John’s voice broke.

_Our pups. Dear God, Sherlock, not our pups._

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded.

Movement from behind them had John turning and Sherlock on edge as a figure appeared across the pool.

“I gave you my number. I thought you might call… Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket? Or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Both.” Sherlock sneered, retrieving John’s gun and aiming it at the man.

“Jim Moriarty. Hi.” Moriarty waited for Sherlock to react in some way. When the alpha’s gaze remained fixed, gun steady and ready to fire, he added, “Jim? Jim from the hospital? Huh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then I suppose that was rather the point… Don't be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty. I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock—just a teensy glimpse—of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see. Like you.”

"Dear Jim, Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister. Dear Jim, Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America.”

“Just so.”

“Consulting criminal. Brilliant.”

“Isn't it? No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will.”

“I did.” Sherlock shot out proudly.

“You've come the closest. Now you're in my way.”

“Thank you.”

“Didn't mean it as a compliment.” Moriarty simply stated. 

“Yes you did.”

Moriarty begrudgingly admitted, “Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting is over, Sherlock. _Daddy's had enough now!_ I've shown you what I can do. I've cut loose all those people, all those little problems. Even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although. I have loved this. This little game of ours, playing Jim from IT, playing gay—did you like the little touch with the underwear?”

“People have died.” Sherlock answered seriously.

“That's what people _do!_ ”

“I will stop you.” Sherlock swore.

“No you won't.” Moriarty sang.

“You all right?” Sherlock anxiously asked of John, worry clearly written in his eyes.

John said nothing, unsure if it would cost him. 

“You can talk, Johnny Boy. Go ahead.”

Sherlock angrily offered up the memory stick to Moriarty. “Take it.”

“Hm? Oh, that. The missile plans.” Moriarty took the offered memory stick and kissed it.

“Boring! I could have got them anywhere.” Moriarty answered dully and tossed it into the pool.

John needed to do something to defuse the situation and now, finding his opportunity with Moriarty momentarily distracted, John moved swiftly, took hold of Moriarty and shouted, “Sherlock run!”

“Oh! Good. _Very good_.” Moriarty was entertained.

“Just like that. Pull that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, and we both go up.” John snarled.

Sherlock didn’t move, not an inch, eyes wide, utterly stunned, but he wouldn’t move. 

Moriarty smiled up at Sherlock. “He's sweet. I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets. They're so touching and loyal. But _oops!_ You've rather shown your hand there, Dr. Watson. Gotcha!”

A red dot slowly rose up to Sherlock’s head and John held back a whine of despair. There was no way out of this, for either of them. John was left with no other choice but to release Moriarty.

Moriarty stepped away from John, unruffled his fine suit and looked up at Sherlock, “Westwood. Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?”

“Oh let me guess, I get killed.” Sherlock drawled unimpressed; it would not be the first, nor the last death threat he received.

“Kill you? Eh, no. Don't be obvious. I mean I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No, no, no, no. If you don't stop prying, I will burn you. I will burn the _heart_ out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.” Sherlock spoke devoid of any emotion, making it a point to avert his gaze from John. Not wanting Moriarty to see—for all Moriarty knew, John was just an arranged omega to him that held now place in his heart—but Moriarty could see what Sherlock tried to hide. Of course someone as insanely intelligent as Moriarty could see through Sherlock’s façade. 

“But we both know that's not quite true. Well. I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.”

Sherlock couldn’t let Moriarty go, not with the silent threat lingering; for John, Sherlock was prepared to kill. 

“What if I was to shoot you now? Right now.”

“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face… because I'd be surprised, Sherlock. _Really, I would_ , and just a teensy bit disappointed, and of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Catch you... later.” Sherlock couldn’t let Moriarty continue to cause destruction to other people’s lives and, certainly, he couldn’t live peacefully with the threat on John’s life. 

“ _No you won't!_ ” Moriarty sang out as he exited the building.

Sherlock shook as he frantically rushed to John’s side and ripped off the jacket of explosives from his body. 

“Alright? _Are you all right?!_ ” Sherlock was breathless, voice high and wavering with emotions, needing John to answer him, because his heart couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Sherlock— Sherlock!” John pled, as Sherlock finished removing the explosives and slid them across the room.

Sherlock then rushed for the nearest door, checked the exit for anything suspicious and found nothing, then rushed back in and began pacing the floor, struggling to make sense of everything that had happened.

“Oh Christ.” John gasped, his legs shaky and no longer able to support his own weight. John collapsed to the ground, pressing his back against the wall and taking in deep breaths. 

“Are you okay?” John asked of Sherlock as he continued his pacing.

“Me? Yeah. Fine. Fine.” Sherlock breathlessly answered.

“That, uh… thing that you… did. That you, um…” Sherlock cleared his throat and paced back up to John, “…you offered to do... That was, um... good.”

John stared back up at Sherlock, and knew he shouldn’t feel such warmth and thrill at seeing Sherlock bumbling around, trying to express just how heartened he was that John cared about his life, but he did. John did care. He cared about Sherlock more than the genius realized. 

"I'm glad you’re okay.”

“Hm?”

Sherlock hummed distractedly, completely missing the intensity of which John spoke his words.

“I couldn’t live in a world without you.”

John confessed as good as telling Sherlock he loved him.

Sherlock paused startled into silence for a long breath, before he exhaled his own confession,

“Me either...”

John leaned forward ready to stand when the flashing of red laser dots, just a little over a dozen pointed at both of them.

“Sorry boys! I'm soooo changeable! It is a weakness with me. But to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. _You just can't._ I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.” Moriarty said, reentering the room.

Sherlock knew there was no way out of this, but still, he’d keep the silent promise with himself and that was that Moriarty could not live. 

“Probably my answer has crossed yours.” Sherlock replied plainly, aiming the gun at Moriarty before dragging his aim lower and down to the bomb-loaded jacket.

The, ‘Staying Alive’, ring tone trilled and echoed in the room. 

Moriarty shut his eyes and exhaled an annoyed breath, “Do you mind if I get that?”

“Oh no, please. You've got the rest of your life.” Sherlock answered derisively. 

“Hello? Yes of course it is. What do you want?” Moriarty paused briefly to mouth an ‘I’m sorry’, before shouting enraged, “Say that again! Say that again and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you.”

Moriarty exhaled a heavy breath, the look of disappointment marring his features as he stared at Sherlock. Silently contemplating his options.

“Sorry.... Wrong day to die…” 

“Oh. Did you get a better offer?” Sherlock curiously asked, wondering what could possibly be so important that Moriarty would essentially let them go.

Moriarty’s face twisted into an expression of unhappiness, “ _I can’t_ let you go with just a warning. Daddy must have his pound of flesh.”

Sherlock tensed, mind working to read Moriarty’s body language, think as Moriarty thought, and when he came to his answer it was too late. Moriarty turned his sights on John, snapped his fingers, a laser dart lowered from John’s chest to his abdomen and shot once.

John cried out, falling back to the ground, curling in on himself. Sherlock’s ears rang with the long ago piercing of a gunshot, and it sent his heart into painful constricting pulses. The screaming of John’s agonized cries only fanned the flames of rage within. Sherlock never thought once about killing another person, not as he thought now. Moriarty would pay with his life. He couldn’t let his emotions and fears overwhelm him, not in this moment. The only emotion that reached him was rage and he’d hold onto it until Moriarty lay dead at his feet.

Sherlock’s gun aimed at Moriarty, eyes blazing. Moriarty smiled widely, raised his hands in a show of surrender and spoke promptly, “ _Now, now, Sherlock_ , you know better than that. If you kill me, you both die. If you let me go, I’ll let you live and you might still have the chance to save your pet.” 

Sherlock’s aim remained steady on Moriarty as he glanced over to John panting, broken groans of pain spilling from his lips. He knew Moriarty was right. If Sherlock took John to the hospital now he might still have a chance, but if he killed Moriarty than they’d most certainly die. 

“This isn’t over.” Sherlock growled, claws lengthening with the urge to maim. 

Moriarty only smiled and backed away, “You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock watched wrathfully as Moriarty turned his back on him and spoke on the phone, and exited the room, “So if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes.” 

Moriarty snapped his fingers once more and the snipers’ laser dots disappeared.

The moment they were alone, Sherlock dropped to his knees at John’s side, retrieved his phone and dialed for help. 

“John… It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Sherlock reassured even when his fears grew at the sight of blood pooling around John’s body as he stared at his pale face.

“Our pups, Sherlock.” John’s voice shook with fear and Sherlock couldn’t speak.

“Sherlock,” John wheezed, grasping the wrist of Sherlock’s hand when he applied pressure on his wound, using his coat to prevent the bleeding as best he could.

Sherlock found it difficult to meet John’s eyes, his vision fogging over with tears. He’d failed to protect John. Failed to keep the omega of his pups safe and now he was full of regrets. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard, he should have let Moriarty go; none of it mattered if he didn’t have John.

“John,” Sherlock choked; the sound of sirens blaring at a distance didn’t fill him with hope, because he knew he’d failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being shot in Afghanistan hadn’t been necessarily a shock for John. It was a time of war, he’d been in the line of fire more than he could count, but the moment it happened, he’d known his life was forever changed. The wound itself hadn’t hit any major organs or arteries, but John knew he could very well bleed out. As he lay on the sands of an active battlefield, John stared up at the darkening sky feeling the numbness of shock take him as his world darkened.

Being shot again, John felt the momentary pause that shock brought, but all too soon the pain and sorrow slammed through him and he cried out with it. 

_Our pups. Dear God, our pups._ John had sobbed within his mind.

Some people see their life flash before their eyes as they slowly drift into the darkness of death. That wasn’t necessarily what John experienced as he bled out on the ambulance gurney, Sherlock seated beside him, next to the EMT that hurriedly worked on stopping the bleeding as the ambulance sped the freeway of London city taking him to the nearest hospital.

John didn't see his life as a child, his time in the army, or anything else but of Sherlock. Every one of the many memories flashing before his eyes were of Sherlock. Pained eyes staring at him in misery as John refused to love Sherlock, show kindness or any form of affection. All the times John refused Sherlock. All the times John pushed Sherlock away. All the times Sherlock pleaded with him and he chose not to hear reason. Regret filled his heart. _How much had Sherlock hurt because of him? How many times did he have the opportunity to show affection for Sherlock and he'd stopped himself?_ So much time wasted. So many opportunities lost. Now he lay in an ambulance, bleeding out, and knowing the chances of survival were low, he felt such regret because he'd done so much wrong.

_I should have loved you. I should have told you how much you mean to me. I should have... done so many things differently. Forgive me. Dear God, I was wrong. I was so very wrong!_

John began hyperventilating, knowing just how disastrous that would be for his current state and yet unable to catch his breath as tears burst forth and fogged his vision. Lids falling heavy, but John fought against giving in.

“John!” Sherlock cried, his voice round with sentiment. 

John tried to focus his sights on Sherlock, but barely managed to make out his blurred features. A cool hand took hold of his, so familiar, so comforting and John held onto it tightly when the EMT put an oxygen mask on him.

John began gulping up the air being delivered to his strained lungs, gasping stridently. Sherlock’s hand trembled in his own and John blinked quickly, struggling to drown away the tears enough so he could look at Sherlock clearly. 

“ _Urghlock_.” John’s call for his alpha was muffled by his oxygen mask, but Sherlock gave John’s hand a firm squeeze, wordlessly affirming he heard him.

“—Ave ur hups.” 

The blurred Sherlock before him nodded his head.

“We’ll save them. I promise.” Sherlock vowed.

John inhaled deeply of the oxygen, drowsily struggling to remain aware and conscious. 

_I love you. Oh God, I love you, Sherlock. I love you. You must know it. See it in my eyes. Deduce my love for you. Please, please know. I love you...._

Tears fell from the sides of his temples as John sobbed in sorrow, pain and regret destroying his overworked heart. 

_I love you. I love you. I love you. Sherlock..._

John began to picture their life as a family, raising their children, happily. John and Sherlock would divide their time caring for their pups and Mrs. Hudson would babysit as they’d go out on cases. They’d be there to see their children say their first word, see them stand and take their first steps and John would forever feel the warmth of a family and the love of his alpha. John needed so much for this dream of a future to become a reality. 

"I... I... I...." John gasped, trying to pull the words from his breaking heart, but something was stopping him.

_I love you. I'll love you forever. I love you, Sherlock. God, how I love you... Beautiful, frustrating, wonderful Sherlock, I love you._

The gurney wheels screeched on the tiled floors of the hospital and John’s eyes opened, never having realized he’d closed them. The grip on his hand was vicious now and John realized he’d woken to the shouting of his name coming from the panic baritone of his husband.

“John! John! Save him, please, _save him_.” Sherlock was sobbing, honest to God tears falling from his pale face and John’s vision was now clear enough to see that Sherlock was close to hyperventilating himself. 

A doctor and a handful of nurses were rushing to his side now, the EMT’s were delivering his stats and condition and John knew it wasn’t good. He was a doctor, he knew the risks and outcomes of such a case, but he still had to try.

Raising his bloodied hand, John gripped the oxygen mask and pulled it down to his chin to speak.

“Why aren’t you doing anything? Save him now!” Sherlock was losing himself to grief as the doctor worked on determining John’s state. 

“Are you the husband?” The doctor glanced up to the frantic Sherlock. 

“ _Yes._ I’m his husband. Please, save him.” Sherlock implored despairingly.

“I… I’m pregnant.” John wheezed. It was difficult to breathe without the oxygen mask. 

John’s eyes slid to stare into the dark brown eyes of the doctor as he leaned in low to listen to John’s soft whispers. 

“What?”

“I’m… pregnant.” John’s voice wavered as new tears fogged his vision

“My… babies, they… they need to be okay. Save them. Please, doctor, save my babies.” John whimpered feebly.

“My pups!” John felt great woe at the possibility of losing them.

“Please… Please save my babies. I don’t care what happens to me, I don’t, just, please, save my babies. They have to live, please, don’t take them away. Don’t take my babies.” John moaned in anguish and unexpectedly Sherlock was at his other side, a large hand palming his damp forehead and a smooth voice was whispering in his ear. 

“It’s okay, John.”

John inhaled sharply and turned his head to face Sherlock, palming Sherlock’s face with his hand, his bloodied hand staining flawless pale skin, John pleaded, “Sherlock… Our pups, you promised, save our pups.”

“John, please, calm down. It will be okay. Don’t worry.” Sherlock urged comfortingly. 

John shook his head, his mind spinning, but he needed to say this, “Don’t sign the consent. Please. Whatever they say, don’t sign it. I’m begging you. You don’t have to forgive me for my cruelty, but I beg you, don’t sign it!”

John could see the uncertainty in Sherlock’s eyes and he wanted to explain further, but he was so dizzy, the room was spinning and the pain was so strong, John could see black dots in his waking vision.

“Get OR 4 ready now.” The doctor called, doors opening in front of John as he was ushered deeper into the medical building. 

John’s eyes felt heavy again, the last thing he registered was two male nurses pulling Sherlock away when they passed another door and Sherlock screaming out his name as everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock’s body was strumming with nerves, his knee bounced up and down as the minutes ticked by and John lay in some operation room going through God knew what.

When John’s doctor entered the waiting room where Sherlock sat; he wasn’t sure what to think. 

“What… What is it?”

“We've stabilized your husband for the time being, but he needs surgery. Before I can begin, I need to have your consent.” the doctor explained.

_John spoke of a consent. Did he know this was coming?_

“Consent for what?”

“He needs surgery immediately, because of the heavy internal impact he’s bleeding extensively. In order to protect your husband, I need to terminate the pregnancy.”

“John is two months pregnant.” Sherlock started to insist, but the look the doctor gave him told Sherlock all he needed to know.

The doctor handed over a binder containing the agreement in which gave him permission to terminate the pregnancy, essentially removing their pups in order to save John’s life.

“Please sign.” the doctor urged, there wasn’t much time left for Sherlock to hesitate much longer.

“Can’t you save both?” 

“It is impossible right now. Your husband needs to be under general anesthesia to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding; the fetuses wouldn’t be able to survive in the first trimester. If your husband doesn’t have the surgery, he will die. There is no easy answer.”

“What are you saying?” Sherlock, for all of his intelligence, he couldn’t think clearly right now. 

“In this situation… There is only one viable option.”

Sherlock stared down at the agreement in his hand, took the pen the doctor offered and signed his name in deep jerking motions. The doctor took the papers, handed it to a nurse and rushed for the OR.

Sherlock stood alone, coming to terms with the decision he had to make, feeling the glaring loss, and collapsed back into his chair. Staring at his trembling bloodied hands, Sherlock released a noise he'd never made before, a keening cry between a howl of grief and a choked gurgled sob. 

Moriarty stole his children from him, destroyed his hopes of raising a family with John, and damned him to take the burden and blame from the one person he loved more than life itself. John was quick to anger and distrust whenever it came to Sherlock. He knew that no matter how he tried to explain his decision this night, John would not understand, and he’d certainly never forgive him for breaking his promise.

“ _John_ … I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I have to. I can’t lose you. I just can’t... _John, forgive me._ ” Sherlock sobbed in despair.

  



	22. Chapter 22

John heard the dull beeping of a heart monitor, something so familiar and strangely soothing, as its beat was stable. Closed eyes squinted as he came to the full awareness of his body and the throbbing pain of his abdomen grew agonizingly stronger.

John’s eyes snapped open and he gradually took in his surroundings; he was in a dimly lit hospital room. Lying on his back gave him the freedom to turn his head and observe the dark sky out the window. It had been late at night when they’d met Moriarty, John didn’t think he’d be waking so soon after… A day or so must have passed.

John’s hand splayed out over his stomach at the remembrance of why he was here. The padding of bandages under his hospital gown sent a trill of terror through him. They’d operated… No… He was in his first trimester…

John glanced over to his left and was met by the sight of a sickly pale Sherlock. Blood staining the sleeves and the un-tucked hem of his white button up shirt, his chuffs untied and rolled up partially, the first two buttons of his shirt let loose. Sherlock’s dull blue eyes had yet to notice his gaze. Sherlock’s eyes were red and puffy, dark bags hung under his eyes, evidence that he hadn’t slept. Curled tresses were frizzed in a unkempt mess, the cause of running his fingers through it a couple hundred times. 

Sherlock was seated in a sofa pressed up against the wall of the room, leaning forward, eyes downcast, his elbows leaned heavily against his legs and arms hung limply. 

“Sherlock.” John rasped. His voice hoarse and throat dry.

Sherlock’s head shot up, grief-stricken blue filling with relief at the sight of a conscious John. Sherlock stood from the sofa and hastily made his way to stand at John’s bedside.

“John, _Oh, John_.” Sherlock wavered, hand immediately reaching out and palming his cheek.

John searched Sherlock’s eyes for some sign, something that would answer his many questions, but only found troubled relief. It was a confusing combination and he was unsure what to make of it.

“Our pups… What about our pups? Are they okay?”

John waited for an answer, but Sherlock said nothing. His eyes breaking away from John’s seeking ones and when Sherlock stepped away to sit in the chair beside the bed, John felt his worries double. He gave Sherlock another long moment to collect his words, but when a flash of pain filled those pale eyes and they didn’t dare meet his, John felt his patience wane. 

“Why can’t you answer me? I’m asking about our pups, Sherlock. Our children… They’re okay, aren’t they?” John was tired, his body feeling weak, but John forced himself to sit upright, bit back the cry of pain from his abdomen and reached for Sherlock. His fingers barely brushing against a jutting cheekbone, but it worked. Sherlock’s eyes slowly rose to John’s desperate stare.

John watched as Sherlock’s already brilliantly shinning blue shimmered when tears filled his eyes and Sherlock released a pained noise, breaking eye contact once more and bowing his head as if seeking pardon.

“Our pups… They aren’t here.”

John’s brows raised, not able to believe what he was hearing. 

“No… _No…_ That can’t be. No.”

Sherlock raised his head and the look of pure anguish and love that was there...

“I… needed you.”

“You signed?”

…

“Answer me.” John choked passed a voiceless sob.

“I did.” Sherlock breathed heavily, slamming his eyes shut as way of erasing the truth that could never be changed and the tears he’d held within for so long fell.

“I requested… I begged you… Didn’t I? I said, I didn’t care about what happens to me.” John shifted further, crying out in pain as he moved closer to Sherlock and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. 

“I said it, clearly. I don’t care what happens to me. I told you to save our pups. You promised. You promised me!” John wailed, inconsolable, trembling with pain, dampness soaking John’s abdomen as he shifted to kneel on the bed and wrenched Sherlock up from his seat to half stand, half lean against the edge of the bed.

“Calm down John. Please. You shouldn’t be doing this in your condition.” Sherlock desperately requested, gentle hands wrapping around John’s clenched fists jerking at his collar.

“How can I be calm, when you tell me our pups are gone? How can I live knowing I couldn’t protect them? How can I live when they are gone? I can’t. _I can’t_.” John hiccupped, gasping for air he couldn’t seem to find.

“Don’t say such things. Please, John. Please. Lay back down. Please.” Sherlock urged remorsefully.

John stared into Sherlock glistening eyes with absolute despondency. Yanking Sherlock against him, until their faces were inches apart, John wept for Sherlock to fix this. To make it so everything wasn’t as it was now. Knowing it was impossible, but still needing for it to be, because life couldn’t be this fucking cruel!

“Please… Return them. Give me back my pups. Return our pups!”

“Don’t do this.” Sherlock broke, grimacing, tormented by John’s plea.

“Bring them back! Please!” John was hysterical, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d lost everything he’d ever wanted and he’d never realized it until it was too late. “Give me back our pups!”

Sherlock let out a broken sob, released John’s wrists and wrapped his arms around him, holding John tightly against him. 

“Shhh.” Sherlock cooed in John’s ear.

“I can’t live without our pups!” John swore, because this heartbreak was killing him from the inside out, his heart literally felt as if it would destroy itself.

“Don’t say that John. _I can’t live without you_.”

John released a gutturally cry against Sherlock’s shoulder, his hands trapped between their chests as Sherlock held him so securely. John’s eyes fluttered as his body grew weak and his sobs stuttered into a heavy exhale as darkness consumed everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John felt the warmth of an arm wrapping around his upper chest and a face nuzzling his side sometime later. Eyes still shut, exhausted, John’s heart ached with unbearable loss. Clenching shut eyes; John released a subdued moan, turned his head into his pillow and whimpered.

The body pressed against him shifted away before a nose was inhaling his scent gland and fingers threaded through his hair.

“ _John_.” Came the soft plea.

“ _Sherlock…_ ” John felt dampness soak his lashes and Sherlock curled an arm around him, and held him close. 

John’s sobs softened as his muscles relaxed and though he fought it, he succumbed to the darkness once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The delicate brush of fingers grazing his hand stirred John to awareness. The warmth of a hand gripping his own drew him away from the darkness and John opened his eyes and was met by pale gray.

“Sherlock…” John whispered, blinking slowly.

“John,” Sherlock began gravely, “We should talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. I asked you not to consent and you… because of you, we’ve lost everything.” John’s voice broke on that realization. 

“John, I’m begging you. I had no other choice.”

“Get out.” John jerked his hand out of Sherlock’s hold.

“You can’t imagine how much pain it caused me to… I’m so sorry John, but I couldn’t lose you. You would have died if I didn’t.”

“I don’t want your explanations.”

“John, please don’t blame me.” Sherlock beseeched, reaching out with his hand to palm John’s damp cheek and brush away the silent tears that fell.

“I can’t stand it.”

“Are you going to deny it’s your fault?”

“No, John. I won’t deny I consented. I’ve blamed myself more harshly and cruelly than you could ever do. But hearing you blame me with such resentment is more pain than my heart can take. Your words cut like a knife. Yes, I am to blame for you getting shot, for us losing our pups, but I want you to know I regret it all—though I know there was no other choice.” Sherlock’s words were filled with more feeling than John had ever heard him express and the fact that his eyes gleamed in the light with unshed tears did something to John’s heart that he could not accept.

“Oh, really? You regret it, but you wouldn’t have changed your mind?”

“John. I did what had to be done. It was the only feasible choice.”

“Do you think that means I should forgive you so easily, when, because of you, I’ve lost our pups? We’ve lost everything. Do you think that your regret will make me forgive you? It doesn’t.”

John turned his head away from Sherlock’s tender touch and stared down at the floor, “I wish I’d never met you.”

Sherlock bowed his head in resignation. 

“Why are you so quiet? Don’t you want to make up more excuses?”

“I wish I could do something. Give you back what we’ve lost. I’d give you my blood and tears if it would make you right somehow.”

“Your conscience must be eating away at you.” John sobbed.

“I haven’t had a moment of peace since I signed the consent. I’ve lost everything along with you. I wanted more than anything to see you birth our children and to raise a family together.”

“Yes. _Yes, yes_. I get it. You’re in pain too, but I can’t sympathize with you, when, because of you, I’m… I’m empty.” John regretfully confessed, tremulous.

“You want to apologize, seek my forgiveness only so you have a load off your shoulders, but I won’t let you off that easily. I refuse to make you feel better when I’m hurting because you put me here!” John yelled full of contempt, the soft whine of his omega grieving bled out of him and Sherlock’s face twisted, pained by the pitiful noise.

“No… _No, no, no, no, John… John!_ That isn’t why I’m here now. That isn’t what I want.”

“Tell me then.” John demanded, physically worn out, in pain and mournful. 

“You already know, John. You know the deepness of my love.” Sherlock moved to seat himself on the bed beside John and cupped his face in his hands.”

John shook his head, face flushing with the voiceless sobs shaking through him, “No… You don’t love me. You can’t. How could you when you’ve ruined me?”

“I told you.” Sherlock leaned close, pressing his nose against John’s temple and scenting him amorously. “I told you so clearly how I’ve loved you.”

“You’re an exceptional liar. I’ve seen you lie for cases… No. You don’t love me.”

“John, I’ve loved you from the very moment I read your file. I fell deeper in love with you still as I watched you play rugby. No one else could ever replace you. You are so singularly beautiful and I love you. When I married you, I already adored you and my love has only grown.”

John tipped his head away, but Sherlock tilted John’s head back and he met Sherlock’s fraught gaze.

“I’ve _always_ loved you, John. I was born to love you. You told me you couldn’t live without me, and neither can I. I can’t even imagine a world without you in it. How could you possibly refuse me for wanting to keep you alive? How could you say you want to die when I’m in front of you and I love you more than life itself?”

“Right now… I hate you.” John whispered, voice sore, his shaky hands taking hold of Sherlock’s hands and removed them from his face.

Sherlock shook his head, unable to bear John’s words, and defiantly took both of John’s hands in his own.

“How can you say that to me? How John? You know I would do anything for you and to hear you say that you hate me… Don’t be this cruel. Before this, we were happy, you said you were happy.”

“I can’t deny it. I was… for a time. I was so blissfully, ignorantly happy. I felt so strongly for you, but that was then, this is now, and I hate you.” John lied. Anger fueling his words, but his heart clenched sorely from the paining lie and the look of utter misery in Sherlock’s eyes.

“I hate you. I hate you because I will never meet our pups. I will never get to hold them in my arms and tell them they are loved… They won’t ever get to experience life. There is no absolution for you Sherlock, I won’t give you any.”

“We are done. Sherlock, do you hear me. We’re done. Get the fuck out.” John demanded, breathing coming in quick and painful, and he knew he was close to hyperventilating, because although he was so very furious with Sherlock, the very idea of Sherlock leaving him for good made it hard to breathe.

“Things will get better John. You will heal, you will have time to mourn, but don’t say this. Don’t say _this_ , not to me, John. Not when you know the depths of my love.”

“No. Sherlock. I will never get over this.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know. I feel it so strongly in me. This hurt is too great. The damage is too severe.”

“ _I can’t believe that_.” Sherlock answered vehemently.

“This is what you’ve done to me. A poor helpless omega forced into marriage, bred and damaged to the extent where the injury can never heal. This heart of mine… you have demolished with your love. Now I will never feel an ounce of happiness again, because you’ve stolen it Sherlock, and have instead given me a lifetime full of pain.”

“Please, forgive me John. Let this anger go. Let me attempt to heal your wounds… Forgive me, John.” Sherlock’s tears fell steadily, chin wobbling faintly as he begged openly. 

“I have no forgiveness to lay out. I am exhausted. I’m so very tired of this marriage. Please, just go. I’m sure that… over time, your love will fade. You will find someone else.”

“John… Even… Even if I left… Even if we didn’t see each other… Even if you leave my life forever… I’d never, _never_ forget you, I’d never stop loving you.”

“You’re skilled with words as you are with lies.” John wept. 

“No, John, you know you’ve always been the only one for me. You know. _I know you know_. My love has always been so clear. You know I love you more than words could possibly express, more than anyone could love anyone, John. This is a once in a lifetime kind of love, you can’t deny a love such as this, _you can’t_.”

Sherlock brushed away the tears smearing John’s face and leaned in close, seeing the wary wonder in John’s eyes.

“You’re the love of my life, my true love. There has never been anybody else, just you John. Always you.”

_I also thought that way, but now… I’m scared to trust you again._

“I also thought… I could love you, but that was just a dream.”

“You care. You care more than you like to admit. I know you care, John. I see it in your eyes. You like me still.”

_I love you still._

“Not anymore.” John continued lying.

“John. _Oh John._ Even when you deny it, I see it in your eyes still; they say what your heart won’t.”

_You know nothing of my heart._

“I’d never hurt you like you’ve hurt me.” John spoke in a small voice, the pain of heartache clear.

“John, forgive me, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean it.”

Sherlock nosed his way along John’s cheek, moving closer to John’s nose and nuzzled him, before salty lips brushed against salty lips.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Sherlock murmured against John’s mouth before claiming his lips in an ardent and gentle kiss.

John strangled out a whine of dejection, his hand moving to caress Sherlock’s jaw, his lips parting willingly when a warm tongue sought entrance. Sherlock kissed him with all the tenderness of the world. The gentle sucking and tonguing all so dizzying and welcomed. John relaxed into the kiss, and sank back onto the bed, kissing Sherlock with insistency. Seeking more care, more warmth, more love. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be comforted. He wanted to be healed. 

Sherlock’s intense kiss gradually lightened, then it broke and he pulled back enough to stare down into John's gleaming eyes.

John’s fingers wove through dark tresses and he wept at the memory he’d once wished their pups had hair like Sherlock’s, now they’d never know. 

“Heal me.” John whispered frailly, giving in. John’s anger dissipated in the sight of Sherlock’s unflagging love. 

Sherlock thumbed John’s damp bottom lip and stared into his eyes tearfully.

“We’ll heal each other.” Sherlock answered wetly and John whimpered under him.

_I’m sorry. I’m too cruel. I told you that I don’t know how to love._

  



	23. Chapter 23

John sat listlessly in his red chair, within 221B, staring out the window vacantly. Sherlock remained unmoving, seated across from him in his leather chair, hands folded, the tips of his fingers pressed at the edge of his chin in his famed thinking pose, analyzing John. 

John’s eyes slowly met Sherlock’s focused gaze, held it within the silence, seeing concern and love reflecting in sea green. John broke their eye contact and looked at the ground. Placing a hand over his eyes, John released a pained groan of misery. He heard shuffling from where Sherlock was seated before strong arms wrapped around him and the shushing of a resonating voice echoed in his ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John lay in bed, enfolded in a thick comforter, head buried deep in his pillow, breathing irregular, having woken from a nightmare. The same one he’d had for two weeks straight, since he’d returned from the hospital. Moriarty's sniper shooting him, seeing tears in Sherlock’s eyes as he promised him everything would be okay, then waking to find he’d lost everything.

Sherlock lay behind him, awake. John knew Sherlock heard him cry out as he woke from his dream. It had woken Sherlock up too, but Sherlock wasn’t asking him about his dream, knowing very well what it was.

A warm hand palmed his shoulder blade and John buried his face deeper into his pillow stifling the strangled sob that broke free. Wordlessly, Sherlock moved closer, pressing his body up against John’s back, strong arms wrapped around his upper chest and held him close.

“I’m here.” Sherlock whispered into John ear.

John sobbed harder, biting into the cushion of his pillow in an attempt to smother back the broken noises from escaping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was called in for a case, Sherlock was ready to refuse, but John told him to go. Sherlock said he wouldn’t leave John’s side, so John told him he’d go with him. It was time they start going on with their lives; living as shut-ins wasn’t doing them any good.

The case was going well enough, Sherlock was scrounging the crime scene for clues and John was helping Sherlock organize his thoughts when something caught John’s eye. Across the street, where the yellow tape divided the civilians and police officers investigating, John saw the media flashing their cameras and videotaping him, not the officers or crime scene—their focus was solely on him.

Upon seeing they’d caught John’s attention; questions were shot out in harsh hollering:

“Mr. Watson! How are you coping with your loss?”

“Watson! Are the rumors true that you are now infertile?”

“Will Sherlock Holmes take a second bond mate to bare his children now that you are barren?”

John winced visibly and turned away from the flashing lights of cameras. He shouldn’t have left the flat. What was he thinking? John wanted to leave. 

A gloved hand took hold of his and John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock’s concerned gray.

“John?”

“I’m okay.” John lied.

“You’re not… Should we leave?”

“You can’t. You’ve already agreed to work the case. Lestrade needs you.” John smiled weakly.

Sherlock frowned, “They might need me, but I need you.”

John twisted his hand in Sherlock’s loose hold to take possession of it and raise it to his mouth and planted a kind kiss to his knuckles. 

“Thank you.”

Sherlock’s eyes softened and he took a half step closer to John, so that his nose just barely brushed against John’s brow.

“I’m sorry about the reporters. Mycroft’s been working hard at keeping them away from the flat, I didn’t realize they’d figure out we came here. I’ll get rid of them.” Sherlock explained, pulling away from John long enough to retrieve his cell phone, entered a quick text message, before taking hold of John’s hand once more and leading him back to the victim’s body. 

John tried to focus on Sherlock’s evaluation of the body, but his eyes kept wandering over to the press. The mountain of questions sending John’s mind whirling in pained contemplations, but then something amazing happened. Three black cars pulled up, fifteen suited men stepped out and began ushering the press so far back, John could hardly see them; he certainly couldn’t hear their questions. 

John glanced back down to Sherlock who was currently busy sniffing their victim’s fingers. Knowing how very unprofessional he was being didn’t stop John from reaching out for Sherlock and running his fingers in dark curls. Sherlock raised his head to meet John’s gaze with one of alarmed curiosity. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” John’s tired eyes stung as he whispered his gratitude.

Sherlock shook his head, “No thanks required. All I did was text Mycroft.”

John just continued to smile sadly down at Sherlock and briefly massaged his scalp, before removing his hand from out of Sherlock’s hair and kneeling beside him.

“What do you smell?” John brought his attention back on the case.

“Oh, that… It’s really interesting. You see…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m so sorry John. I’ve run the tests over and over again. The bullet caused severe damage. I’ve looked through the surgeons reports, he did all he could to repair it, but I’m afraid the likelihood of you becoming pregnant naturally… There are still other options for you. This doesn’t mean you are sterile. With the right treatment, you very well might become pregnant again, but you’ll never have a large litter. One, I’m afraid might be your only achievement.” Dr. Levy spoke softly, staring sympathetically at John as he sat within her office and next to a quiet Sherlock.

“I…” John couldn’t seem to bring his thoughts into words. 

“Here are a few pamphlets I have. They explain exactly what options are left for you. As I mentioned before there are treatments I can implement to help boost your low fertility, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it will work… However, this can all be discussed in the future when you are ready.”

“I… What’s the percentage for people like me getting pregnant again?”

“John, every person is different. Everyone responds differently.” Dr. Levy hedged, glancing from John to Sherlock.

“The percentage.” John demanded. 

“Twenty percept.” Dr. Levy answered regretfully.

“Yeah, that’s not infertile at all.” John hissed a sardonic laugh.

John’s eyes voicelessly pled with Dr. Levy to change her diagnosis, to tell him lies. John needed her to lie to him. To tell him he was okay. He was still highly fertile. That when he was ready he could try again, and have the large family he’d dreamed of having. He couldn’t live with the memory of how he’d failed. At least if he knew there was a possibility for a future where he could have children… At least then he knew he could love them, love them seven times more for the ones he’d lost. 

John’s hands gripped tightly to the armrests of his seat. He hadn’t realized they were trembling until a hand reached out and pried one of his off the seat. John snapped his head in Sherlock’s direction and found silent tears falling from the alpha’s deadened eyes.

John looked away in shame. He wasn’t even good enough to call himself Sherlock’s mate. He was no longer healthily fertile, he could give Sherlock the possibility of one child, and even that possibility was very low, he held no place in their union.

“I want you.” Sherlock said unashamed. 

“No you don’t.” John shook his head and slammed his eyes shut. “How can you want me now? Didn’t you hear Dr. Levy? I can’t offer you what I was intended for.”

“ _Shut up, John!_ ” Sherlock snarled.

John bit back a curse, finding he lacked the necessary anger. He could only bow his head in his other hand.

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” Dr. Levy rose from behind her desk and generously left her office to them.

“You’ll need to find a second.” John forced the words out. Trying to be strong and rational, knowing how painful the idea was, but that it was now to be expected when he couldn’t possibly give Sherlock more than one child, and that child being a miracle baby. At least a second bond mate would be able to offer Sherlock a large family.

“I don’t want a second. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Your family will push for it.”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I know them.”

John shook his head.

“I know you want children, Sherlock. Don’t lie to me. I saw how you were when… when I was going to give you—”

“You idiot.” Sherlock growled and John grimaced at the insult.

“I wanted them because they were ours. I want whatever you can give me, and even if we don’t ever have children, I’m fine with it just being us.”

John was skeptical.

“What about when you get older? You’re so young, Sherlock. You don’t feel the importance yet, but you will. You will want children.”

Sherlock raised his hands to frame John’s face in a secure hold, forcing John to meet his gaze.

“Listen closely, John. I want you. I want us. If I ever have children, it will be from you and you alone. I’ll always want this. That will never change, no matter how old I get.”

“But your family...”

“I told you that they won’t.”

John shook his head in protest. 

“Stop it, John. Trust me. Please.”

John wanted to… He really wanted to.

“I’m scared…” John declared, hardly above a whisper.

“What of?” Sherlock murmured caringly.

“That you’ll leave me when I have nothing to give you.”

“You staying by my side is all I need, John.” Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips against John’s damp cheek, kissing away a trail of tears.

“Stay by my side and you’ll have given me all I could ever dream of.”

“I’ll never deserve you.” John breathed softly. Even knowing this, John still became greedy and brought Sherlock into his arms and held him close. Burying his face against his alpha’s scent gland, John cried, inhaling the plentiful quantity of alpha pheromones that seeped out and filled his senses, slowly relaxing him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was alone at 221B. Sherlock left earlier that morning to retrieve a human heart Molly had saved for him. Sherlock promised he’d be back soon and John was patiently waiting for him when there was a knock at the front door.

John rose from his chair, setting the book he was reading down on the armrest and went to answer it. Swinging the door open, the last person John expected to see was Mrs. Holmes standing outside of his door, cheerless eyes staring up at him. 

“Mrs. Holmes?” John greeted, ill at ease with her unexpected presence, understanding completely why she had come. John wordlessly stepped aside allowing Mrs. Holmes in and she immediately seated herself on the sofa. 

“Tea?” John offered.

“Oh, no thank you, dear. Come here. Come sit with me. I came to talk with you.”

John inhaled a trembling breath and moved to seat himself beside her. Tuning slightly so they were facing each other, Mrs. Holmes laid a hand on his knee and spoke.

“Oh, John dear, your parents, Mycroft, Mr. Holmes, and I all promised Sherlock that we would give you two sometime alone to work through this tragedy, but I couldn’t stay away anymore. How are you doing?”

John smiled frailly and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’m just taking the days as they come. I took some time off from work. I don’t really want to go out all that much these days.” John answered honestly.

“Is it the press? Those parasites have been saying such nasty things on the telly. I told Mycroft to handle it and he has been, but still, the media is a nasty thing to control.”

“Thank you. Sherlock’s been trying too. They haven’t come near the flat since I was first discharged from the hospital.” John tried to remain optimistic, but it was difficult when he knew why Mrs. Holmes truly came.

“Sherlock told us about your visit with the gynecologist. I’m so very sorry love. For an omegas status to be questioned as yours is being now… It’s horrible.” 

John knew Mrs. Holmes was trying to be supportive, but her words acted like a slap in the face. They were too blunt.

“I… tried. I told Sherlock he could seek a second, but… but he said he didn’t want one.” John tried to reason with Mrs. Holmes. To let her know that though it pained him, he was trying to accept his purpose in their family and now knowing he was unable to fulfill it, he was acting rightly in supporting his alphas options and right.

“What?” 

“I… because I’m… I was bought to bring the Holmeses kin, and now that I’m unable to… I tried. I really did try to convince Sherlock to have a second, but he doesn’t want one. I… I… don’t think I can ask him again, but… but if you’ve chosen someone already… I will let him know.” John tried to remain strong, tried not to let the pain of his circumstances destroy him, but then he thought about the very strong possibility Mrs. Holmes might have already found someone for Sherlock and that… It hurt to consider. Sherlock might refuse, but if his parents pressured him, would he give?

Love was one thing… but alphas needed kin. They valued packs and would want their own. Would instinct or love win out in the end? John wasn’t sure. He’d like to think Sherlock’s alpha was faithful, but…he had so many doubts. 

“Oh… Oh my dear boy…” Mrs. Holmes shook her head adamantly, “No, child. Heavens no. That is not what I meant. I haven’t come to… No, child. How could you think I’d do that?” 

John explained his reasoning, “You chose me to be with Sherlock because I was to birth him many children, now that I am unable to… you will need to find him a second.”

“Dear child, I’m so very sorry if you’ve misunderstood my intentions. I did choose you because you are an omega, but not necessarily for the reasons you might have thought. I love my boys dearly and want the best for them. Since they were children, I’ve spoiled them, giving them the best of everything. I thought of their future, schooling, careers, and family. I wanted them to have the best bond mate and I knew that would be an omega. An omega is fiercely loyal, monogamous, nurturing, and can give them a large family full of love.”

John winced by Mrs. Holmeses last words and she noticed, regret and guilt filling her eyes for her poor choice of words. 

Patting John’s knee compassionately, voicelessly seeking forgiveness, Mrs. Holmes remorsefully questioned, “Have you never wondered why Mycroft is unbound?”

John had considered it briefly, but as he didn’t so much care for the man, he hadn’t really focused on it so intently.

“I just thought he chose his career instead of wanting to bond.”

Mrs. Holmes shook her head, smiling unhappily. 

“No dear. Just like Sherlock, I found an omega for Mycroft.”

“Mycroft… _Mycroft_ , has an omega?” John could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“We don’t talk about it… It happened so long ago, but… when Mycroft turned twenty-three, his omega reached full adulthood. We… just as we’d done for you and Sherlock, we planned Mycroft’s wedding with his intended’s parents. Three months before the wedding was to take place, Mycroft’s intended was driving home when a drunk driver ran a red light and hit her vehicle… She died.”

John stared as Mrs. Holmes hurriedly wiped tears from her eyes.

“Oh, she was a sweet girl, John. Such a dear and she’d have cared so lovingly for Mycroft. I just know she would have.” 

“So… Mycroft… He never bonded after that. That reserved boy… He never went to see her in person, but I found a folder in his room once… I know I shouldn’t have snooped, but… Mycroft had been keeping watch over her. I think he might have loved her. I remember telling him the news and that he hardly ate, slept, or talked for weeks after.”

“Why… Why are you telling me all of this?” John rasped, completely thrown. To think of Mycroft being in love… it was strangely paining. John knew the heartache that love could bring and just imaging if something like that were to happen to Sherlock… John didn’t think he could bare it. 

“My point is that, I chose you because I wanted Sherlock to have a loving partner, just like I did with Mycroft. I want my Sherlock to be happy, and John, you make Sherlock so very happy. I could never send you away or bring in a second. I wanted my children to know the comforting warmth a true partnership could bring. Your fertility, it is a terrible loss, but something that I recognize and accept.”

“I don’t know what to say.” John truly didn’t.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know I’m here for you John. I know I can never know what it’s like to be an omega, but I want you to know I care for you like you’re my own.” Mrs. Holmes said warmly.

John blinked his eyes quickly, holding back the emotions willing themselves to spill over.

“Mrs. Holmes.” John huskily spoke.

“Call me mother, dear.” Mrs. Holmes smiled.

John laughed, he didn’t think he felt ready for that, but maybe in the future he would be.

“You are not what I thought you to be.” John confessed.

“You are everything I thought you to be.” Mrs. Holmes countered.

Staring warily at John’s body, Mrs. Holmes nervously said, “I know you’re still healing, but would it cause you pain if I hugged you?”

John shook his head, smiling fondly at the elderly beta, “No. I can hug just fine.”

“Oh, that’s good, then.” Mrs. Holmes chuckled and kindly wrapped John in her arms and held him gently, petting his hair much like a mother would when soothing their child. The tears that pelted Mrs. Holmeses shawl was brought on by the nurturing embrace that mothers were strangely versed in. It was a great comfort to John as he held her close and inhaled the scent of his alpha’s mother with fondness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling, mind swarming with a mountain of thoughts. One arm thrown back, resting against the top of his head, his other laying limply against his abdomen.

So many things to think over, so many things to work through, and so many things he had yet to accept. Moriarty had stolen their future, a future John hadn’t realized he’d wanted so much until it was being taken from him. He’d wanted a lifetime with Sherlock. He’d wanted a family with Sherlock. Wanted it all with Sherlock and then Moriarty happened. 

John knew… He understood after he had time to gather his thoughts, to talk it over with his doctor, there had been no way to save their children. It was either he died with his pups or his pregnancy was terminated and they saved his life. It was a heartbreaking thought, that for him to live, it meant he’d lose his children. John felt guilt. He knew there was nothing that could be done, but still, it was so very painful. 

Sherlock made the only conceivable choice. John knew this now. Accepting it was something completely different. John didn’t think he could ever accept this. He was angry with fait, for being chosen for Sherlock, for loving Sherlock, for being the victim of a mad man’s vengeance. It was because he meant so much to Sherlock that Moriarty had attacked him. He destroyed both Sherlock’s and John’s heart by murdering their unborn children. 

John looked to his left and over to the still body lying at his side. Sherlock stared up at the ceiling much like John did, eyes blinking slowly, revealing nothing of how he felt, but John knew Sherlock was restless. He couldn’t sleep peacefully when John couldn’t fall asleep.

It was late, but John’s mind couldn’t rest, it kept running, working, never stopping for a moment. 

_Dear God, what has our marriage become?_ John reflected, staring back up at the ceiling.

_If I asked you to hold me, I know you would. If I slept, so would you. I’m hurting, so are you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t seem to break away from my grief. My life has been too cruel and I told you, didn’t I? I’m damaged goods, Sherlock. You won’t ever have peace with me. I’m sorry…_

John shut his eyes, inhaled a wavering breath, attempting to heal his pain with his love for Sherlock, but it only made his heart ache more. 

_I might never be able to give you children Sherlock… But you still won’t leave me. I should feel relieved, but I’m frightened I will become your burden. You never signed up for this._

Running his hand over the thin cotton of his shirt, he felt the newly welted scar of his stomach where they’d operated, John’s breath hitched at the remembrance of how he’d once been full, now he was empty.

_I’m empty. I’m so empty, Sherlock. Fill this emptiness. Make me feel whole again._

Sherlock shifted at his side and John opened his eyes, turned and met pale blue. Sherlock moved closer still, a hand raised and planted itself on his chest, above his pounding heart.

“I’m here.” Sherlock husked, hearing John’s voiceless pleas. 

John rolled to face Sherlock and rested his head on the edge of Sherlock’s pillow, faces inches apart, John searched Sherlock’s eyes for some answer as to what he was thinking, but found nothing. 

_Your mother was here. She wasn’t what I thought her to be. She… she said things that made me hope. I want there to be a future for us still. I still want to have everything with you._

“Can you…” John began, unable to say the rest, _—hold me?_

After a brief moment of blank staring, Sherlock’s arms wound themselves around his waist and gently tugged him close. John shut his eyes and buried his face against Sherlock’s chest, scenting him.

_I can breathe only when you hold me like this._

“Please John, let go. Let it all go.” Sherlock spoke at last, his words startling John. 

“I want to.” John divulged with a sigh.

“Let go John, it’s the only way we can move forward.”

John felt his lashes dampen and he nodded his head in understanding. 

“I’m trying.” John acknowledged, knowing it wasn’t much, but it was all he could do right now. 

…

“Sherlock...” John said and breaking the seemingly never-ending silence, knowing Sherlock was still up because John still couldn’t sleep.

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed, shifting to nuzzle the back of John’s ear, kind hands pressing at his back, rubbing soothing circles.

“You know… don’t you? That I… That I still… need you.” John’s grief felt overwhelming, but he still needed to be sure Sherlock understood he would always want Sherlock.

“I will always need you.”

Sherlock inhaled a deep, almost inaudible breath, before exhaling a soft, “I know.”

John gripped the back of Sherlock’s cotton shirt, never wanting to let go, never wanting to part from the alpha that possessed his whole heart.

_I love you._

“I love you, John.” Sherlock rumbled, voice hoarse with feeling.

John shut his eyes to keep the dampness from being released.

_You still love me, even though I might never give you children, even when I’m broken and lost in grief? You still love me?_

John’s arms constricted their hold of Sherlock.

“I… Sherlock… I…” John tried; wanting to put those confessions within his mind out there in the open, reveal just how deeply he felt for Sherlock, but the words choked up in his throat.

All he could manage to say was, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you.” John repeated, with more care, more emotion, trying to put his confession within those two simple words, “ _Thank you_.”

“Sherlock, _thank you_.” The traitorous tears managed to escape and John sobbed out his concealed confession. 

“Sherlock… Sherlock… Thank you… Thank you… Thank you…” John wept, smearing his tears against Sherlock’s shirt.

_Sherlock… Sherlock… I love you… I love you… I love you…_

“Hush John. It’s okay. I’m here.” Sherlock cooed sweetly, a hand moving to card through his hair, soothing and loving. 

_I’m sorry. I’m a coward. I can’t tell you yet. I can’t say it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true. I love you. I’ll work up the strength to tell you. I promise I will. I’ll love you in the way you deserve, just give me a little bit more time. Don’t give up on me. Please, don't. Wait, just a little longer. I promise, I won’t ever hurt you again, even when I'm hurting, I won't hurt you because of it._

  



	24. Chapter 24

_Divorce is 22% more likely in marriages that have suffered the loss of a pregnancy._

John read from his laptop and bit the inside of his cheek, rereading this paining statistic. Would they be a part of the seventy-eight percent that stayed together, or would their marriage fail? All he’d wanted to do was look up ways to close this gap between them, but instead, he’d found this.

Running a hand through his hair, John glanced from the screen of his laptop and over to Sherlock who was seated at the kitchen table, cultivating some human tissue experiment in his petri dish. John snapped his laptop closed and set it on the study table, over a mess of books and files set out by the disorganized alpha. 

John loved Sherlock. He knew that now. This feeling… it could be nothing else. John couldn’t imagine a world without Sherlock and as frightening as it might be, John knew he’d die without Sherlock. Life wasn’t worth living when the one person who made it bearable didn’t exist. So if Sherlock lost his patience with him… If Sherlock finally wised up and realized John was an emotional mess and refused to be strung along anymore… If Sherlock left him, John didn’t think he could handle it. 

John needed Sherlock. Lord Almighty, John _needed_ Sherlock in his life. For so many years John had been so alone. He had family and friends, but no one who he could truly open himself up to. In some ways, John still had yet to open up to Sherlock, but he would in time. And still, Sherlock was the one person he’d opened up to more than anyone else. It was just that he’d been hurt so much in the past and he’d withdrawn from the world, he’d secluded himself and found it difficult to trust others, but he wanted to trust Sherlock… _He did trust Sherlock._

_I trust you… I love you… I… I just find it hard to express my feelings. I still, foolish as it might be, feel wary of opening up for fear of being hurt. I don’t think I can take being hurt again._

John rose from his chair and silently walked over to Sherlock who was leaning over the table and setting up his Petri dish. Standing behind the alpha, so involved in his experimenting that he had yet to realize he was there, John placed his hand on the taller man’s shoulder blade.

Sherlock stilled his movements and turned to face John.

“John?”

John met cerulean blue eyes, flecked in silver and green, so beautifully singular. It amazed John that Sherlock’s eyes always seemed to change in shade, intensity and color depending on the lighting and the clothes he wore. It was always a welcomed surprise. 

No words left John’s lips as he stared at his alpha, his husband, who’d loved him for fourteen years. Who’d protected him and watched over him in secret for so long. Sherlock had always been there and John never knew. He never realized the deepness of Sherlock’s feelings, but now that he did, he knew he couldn’t lose him. 

Life without Sherlock had been lonesome, dull, and paining. With Sherlock... John felt… not necessarily at peace, but… better, stronger, loved. Sherlock was always there for him, always within reach. If John needed affection, Sherlock gave it. If John wanted space, Sherlock gave it. If John needed, Sherlock gave and gave and gave. Always giving, always, never asking… Well, except for John to stay and he would. John would stay with Sherlock for the rest of their lives and if Sherlock were to leave this world before him, John would soon follow, because a world without Sherlock wasn’t a world John could live in. 

“ _John_?” The curiosity in Sherlock’s eyes transitioned to that of concern as he searched John’s face for answers.

The love John had for Sherlock could not be housed within. Something this powerful overwhelmed him. A love like this lasted for ages. A love like this only existed in romance novels, because no one in real life could possibly feel this strongly about another individual, but John did. John truly felt this devastatingly intense love for Sherlock, a love that verged on painful, because it was just too much to take, too much to own, but he did. He had to, because without it, he’d be lost. 

John stepped closer to Sherlock, inches apart; John raised a hand and palmed the pale man’s cheek.

_So young, so beautiful, so kind and mine._

“Sherlock… I’ve never asked you, but…” John’s words faded away as he gazed into those hypnotic eyes. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock raised an inquisitive brow, seemingly set at ease by the smoothness of John’s cadence. 

“I know we’ve had a rough start to things, but… you’re content… with me?” John’s voice was soft, his question coming out as more of a hopeful declaration. 

Sherlock smiled kindly down at John, a large hand layered itself over John’s caressing the alpha’s cheek.

“Deliriously.”

John laughed softly, completely surprised at himself. He hadn’t laughed in… a month, not since... Not since _then_.

“I’ve been so distant though.” John found Sherlock’s admission hard to believe.

“You still seek me out when you need me and it’s enough.”

“So little and it’s enough?”

“It’s because it’s you.” 

John’s brows furrowed, not sure how to take Sherlock’s last confession, but it still made him feel good.

“Do you think things will get better between us?” John wondered aloud, lowering his hand from Sherlock’s face to thread his fingers with the hand of the alpha’s that layered his. 

“They already are, you’re being more open with me than you’ve ever been before.”

John hummed in agreement; he was, but still… There was this gap, a gap he’d created and he wanted to mend it.

“I’m sorry.”

Sherlock blinked, uncomprehendingly.

“For being cruel. For not understanding and blaming you for everything. You are _not_ responsible for any of it. This is all because of… because of… _him_ , and we will get justice. We will make him pay for taking… for taking…” John’s voice was hoarse, trying to work out his words, eyes lowering to glare at the ground, unable to bring himself to say what it was they’d lost, because though he was working through his grief, it still hurt tremendously to say it.

“I know… _I know_.” Sherlock whispered, and pulled John closer with the grip of his hand and wrapped his free arm around him, bringing John to lean against him in a heartening embrace.

_I love you._

John sighed shakily, nodding his head appreciatively, and buried his nose under Sherlock’s collar, nose brushing along the warm flesh of the alpha, John inhaled deeply of Sherlock.

“I love you, John.” Sherlock murmured, chin resting above his head, and stroked his back affectionately.

_Oh, Sherlock, I love you so much._ John smiled, affectionately scenting his husband.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So you’ve been trying then?” Ella acknowledged, pleased to see that John wasn’t closing himself off completely with his husband.

The worst thing a couple could do after such a loss was to draw away from one another; it was the first step to separation. Right now, John had to be open with his alpha in order to save their marriage. An omega separated from their alpha… it worried Ella. John was so stubborn and closed off normally, that if he were to push his alpha away right now, she suspected it wouldn’t be long before the omega within John lost itself to grief. Omegas never lived long after separating from their alphas. Some might think it poetic that an omega was so connected with their alpha that if they separated or the alpha died first, the omega would soon follow, but to Ella it was a travesty. Omegas were so rare and sensitive beings. They were better than any alpha or beta, because when they bonded they bonded with all their heart and soul. John and Sherlock needed to work beyond this and Ella would strive to help them.

“Have you thought more about the couple’s therapy I recommended?” 

John smiled weakly and shook his head, ‘no’. 

“I… I think we’ve improved and if I feel that we need the help, I will talk to Sherlock about it, but right now I think it’s better for us to work through this alone. Sherlock’s been…” John paused, inhaling shakily and gave Ella a sincere smile. “He’s been really wonderful to me.”

Ella smiled, glad to hear John’s alpha was so nurturing. 

“Okay, but if you change your mind, I have a list of therapists.”

John solemnly nodded with understanding.

“I… He… I want to tell him how I feel.” John admitted timidly. 

Ella nodded, a sense of relief filling her. From what John had told her, Sherlock seemed to truly love him. John’s confession couldn’t come at a better time. Sherlock’s love being validated would only bring the two closer.

“Oh?”

“I just… I can’t seem to ever work up the courage to say it.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. I just… He’s loved me this whole time… For so bloody long and I just… I feel like saying it wouldn’t amount to much. I’ve been so cruel to him and I don’t deserve him.”

“You regret the past, but that shouldn’t stop you from making a future with him. John, you are tremendously lucky, not many omegas end up with an alpha who will love them like the way your alpha seems to.”

“I know and it makes it all the harder to tell him. My… feelings… they could never measure up to the way he’s felt about me.”

“I’m not sure about that. You protect him when working cases, you always tend to the home and prepare his meals, and you are quite nurturing John. Even if you might not feel that you are. You’ve been caring for him this whole time. You deserve this happiness. You have the right to love him and I’m sure once you feel that you’ve earned that right and express your feelings to him, Sherlock will accept you and feel comforted to finally know you feel the same.” 

“I don’t know…”

“Why don’t you practice aloud when you’re alone? Say all you want to tell him and keep doing so until you feel sure of yourself and when the moment presents itself, tell him. Remind yourself that you deserve this happiness, that Sherlock deserves the reassurance of your feelings, and tell him all you wish to say. I am confident you will be able to do this.” Ella encouraged. 

John nodded his head with acceptance and promised himself he would. He’d start practicing and then… he’d tell Sherlock. He’d just blurt it out and get it out in the open and hope Sherlock didn’t realize he could do better, have better than a broken, nearly infertile omega.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John stared at his reflection in his mirror within the bathroom of his flat. The home was quiet. Sherlock had left to collect some human organs from Molly and this gave John the opportunity to do his homework assigned by Dr. Thompson.

“Sherlock…” John started, face tense, glaring at himself.

“No. No, no, no. Too assertive.”

“Sherlock…” John softened, attempting to relax his features and groaned at how sappy this felt.

“No, definitely not.”

…

“I love you.” John blurted and groaned, he didn’t want to surprise attack Sherlock with his admission. 

“No, how the hell am I going to do this?”

…

“You’re a self-righteous prat, but I love you.”

John burst into a fit of laughter; it was true, but definitely not appropriate for a first time confession. 

“Sherlock… You are a kind, wonderful alpha and I—” John’s voice was hoarse as he struggled to voice his confession.

“John?” 

“ _Christ_.” John cursed under his breath when the alpha’s voice strummed through the closed door of the bathroom and he heard the front door shut from a distance.

“I’m home. John, where are you?”

“I’m coming.” John called, barreling out of the bathroom, and guiltily met Sherlock within the living area, breathing heavily, feeling as if he’d gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Sherlock set the icebox on the study table and gazed up at John inquisitively.

“What?” John asked breathlessly, struggling to relax his tense posture, attempting not to give anything away. Not wishing Sherlock to deduce his actions, though, he really didn’t think Sherlock would come to the right conclusion.

“Were you…?” Sherlock tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Was I what?” John sent Sherlock a look of confusion. Sometimes John found it hard to follow Sherlock’s train of thought. 

“You know.” Sherlock stared back down the hall where John exited the bathroom in a rush then did an obscene hand gesture to imply… _Jesus…_

“I’m not some depraved sex addict!” John sniped, face burning hot at the very idea he’d… John didn’t jerk off, not like he used to as a child. In fact, excluding the time Mycroft gave him those heat educational videos, he hadn’t touched himself in years. Masturbation was more something he’d done as a youth when his hormones were haywire, but as he matured he’d lacked the motivation to do such.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and retrieved the icebox and headed for the kitchen refrigerator to put away the organs. 

“It’s fine if you were, I mean… I could assist next time. I—”

“I wasn’t masturbating, Sherlock!” John raged, palming his face, mortified that his husband actually thought he’d be… 

_God, having this conversation was absolutely horrendous._

“Mm, okay.” Sherlock hummed, distracted with his organs and John grumbled curses on his way to their bedroom where he slammed the door shut, refusing to be in the same room as the completely ludicrous alpha. 

Only when he’d entered their room did he fully comprehend what Sherlock had offered to do. John’s red face burned hotter at the very idea of… John knew their sexual life was rather dull and they’d only done anything sexual once after his heat. To think about doing something like that again… John hadn’t thought about sex with Sherlock. It wasn’t like he wasn’t attracted to the alpha, because he was. He _really_ was. It was just something he didn’t think about doing… not anymore—certainly not after he’d been shot by the sniper… The idea of bonding… mating… It would be a painful reminder of his inadequacy as an omega now. 

God, what about his heat? He’d be going into heat in two months from now and the idea of mating, of his omega wanting to breed, even knowing logically that the likelihood of impregnation was low — John didn’t think he could take that. To wake after his heat and know that he hadn’t actually been bred and could not carry his alpha’s pups, it would be too painful to handle. The idea of his upcoming heat… John had never felt such fear or pain. He didn’t want to suffer that kind of reminder. John really didn’t want his heat. The only way to stop it was by starting up on suppressants once more, but that meant he’d lack a sex drive and his scent would act as a sexual repellant to alphas—Sherlock to be specific. 

People would talk, but John truly didn’t want to suffer the reminder of his infertility and of now being a low grade omega. John didn’t want to be reminded that he was no longer suitable for Sherlock. John wanted suppressants. He needed them. He’d start back on them immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John forked at his steak salad and hesitantly raised his head enough so to meet Sherlock’s piercing gaze from across the table. Sherlock had yet to eat the meal John prepared and he knew it was because the consultant at last scented the change. John had started taking suppressants four days ago and his body had finally shifted with the desired effects of the drugs.

John took a bite of his salad and glanced away from the heated glare burning through him. Staring at the refrigerator within the kitchen, he attempted to calm his racing heart.

“Are you really going to make me ask or will you explain yourself?” Sherlock sighed derisively.

John swallowed audibly and lowered his gaze to the table.

“I… had to.”

“Why?” Sherlock gritted out through clenched teeth, barely containing his wrath.

“I… I don’t want—” 

“ _Me?_ You really hate me, don’t you? Am I such a dreadful husband that you would start back up on suppressants? I’m an alpha, John. I’m not a demon!” Sherlock slammed a palm against the table and it shook with the intensity of his words.

John immediately met Sherlock’s eyes with a look of helpless need, desperate that Sherlock would not take offense. Seriously though, what had John expected? Any alpha would be affronted that their spouse chose to take suppressants rather than spend their heats with them. 

“It’s not you!” John endeavored to console his mate, but Sherlock broke him off with a bitter laugh and shook his head, disbelievingly. 

“I thought you understood John? I thought you _finally_ understood and could accept me… but this… You could have told me you don’t want me… You didn’t have to start suppressants. I’d never force myself on you. Never.”

“I— It’s not you, Sherlock. _Really._ I just…”

Sherlock bowed his head and palmed his eyes, exhaling a heavy breath.

“If you didn’t want to bond, you could have just told me.”

“I… I didn’t mind the bonding before… I really didn’t, but… I just…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you started? You knew I would scent it eventually.”

“I…” John was floundering. Expressing himself in words was so very difficult for him and now Sherlock was hurting, believing John was rejecting him, suppressing his omega’s cycles because he was repulsed by their bonding when he was doing it for himself, to save himself from the pain of being reminded he was broken… from Sherlock realizing how useless he was.

“Okay.” Sherlock rasped lowering the hand shielding his eyes and met John’s dark blue. 

John’s breath stilled at the sight of those emotionless blue looking back at him.

“Okay?” John whispered on edge, not sure what Sherlock was consenting to, but his senses told him it was nothing good.

“I understand. _I get it._ ” Sherlock’s voice was sharp like a blade, digging deeper into John’s constricting heart. “So long I’ve waited and worked, John. So hard have I struggled to appease you, to comfort you, to love you, but…” Sherlock’s words faded to nothing as cool blue lowered to stare at the table dividing them and pain flashed in the alpha’s features before it quickly vanished, almost as if it never existed. 

“Everyone has their limits.” Sherlock deadpanned. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John was begging now, Sherlock was hurt, he understood this, but John couldn’t stomach his words now, they were too cold.

“Nothing I do is good enough. _It just isn’t enough… It never will be._ ”

“That’s not true.” John argued.

“I’m an alpha.”

“A _kind_ alpha.” John whispered softly. 

“ _I’m an alpha_. An animal in your eyes.” Sherlock snarled.

“I—I didn’t mean it. That was so long ago, before I realized who you really were, before I—.”

_…before I loved you._

“No? Really? I’m not a monster? I’m not the alpha that killed our pups?” 

John grimaced, Sherlock’s words slicing at his wounded heart.

“ _No… You aren’t_.” John stuttered frailly, eyes blurring with unshed tears.

“Stop it, John! Stop pretending. I understand fully how you see me. I understand fully just how you loath me.” Sherlock laughed, manic and vengeful all at once and it was terrifying. 

“My parents bought you for me, John. It was wrong. The laws are set up against omegas and I’m sorry for it, but at the same time I was pleased it led me to you and I wanted to ignore the injustice of it, because it gave me you and… _I loved you_.”

John knew he should be focusing on other parts of Sherlock’s declarations, but one struck out to him the most, far more than the rest.

“Loved?”

“Loved.” Sherlock confirmed and John felt his heart shredded to bits. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John strained, the tears silently breaking forth and slipping along his pale face. 

“I… am tired of jumping through hoops for you. I… I’ve tried my hardest, but even then it’s not enough. Take your suppressants. Ignore me. Hate me for the rest of our lives, John. It won’t matter to me for much longer. I’ll just erase it all.”

“Erase?” John felt a coldness strike through his core.

Sherlock’s icy blue stared John down with such revulsion that John felt sick to his stomach. Rising from his chair, Sherlock pressed his hands against the edge of the table and leaned in across the table. John stared warily up as Sherlock’s eyes betrayed the anger that was there and tears gleamed in the alpha’s eyes.

“I’m tired of suffering from a broken heart. Unrequited love is a cruel punishment. I can’t stand it anymore. Time and time again you’ve hurt me, John. I’m tired of being the strong alpha. I can’t do it anymore. I’m so very tired.”

“Sherlock, please… Just… just calm down and sit. Talk to me, don’t do this. Please.” John was distressed, coming to understand fully what Sherlock intended to do then and trembled against his chair in utter fear, unable to say the words that drummed a mantra within his mind. The same words he knew would stop Sherlock from doing what he intended to.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t?” Sherlock implored desperately, a spark of hope flashing in piercing eyes. 

...

John slowly watched as the hope faded from Sherlock’s eyes the longer the silence grew. 

_I love you. God, Sherlock, don’t do it. I truly love you. I’m scared. That’s all it is. I’m scared of losing you, please. Don’t give up on me. Please, don’t do this. Please. God, please!_

“Right.” Sherlock whispered to himself, bowing his head and shutting his eyes for one brief moment. 

“I’m going to leave now. I’m going to go into my mind palace and search out every memory of my childhood that I kept watch of you, and every expression of the love I have for you. I’m going to tear it to pieces, and then I’m going to burn it, until nothing of this love is left. I’ll remember everything after our wedding, but the love I have for you will be completely erased from my mind. I won’t have to suffer this heartbreak anymore. You’ll just be the omega my parents saddled me with and that will be fine. It will be tolerable. What should it matter to you? The loss of my love won’t mean a thing to you.” Sherlock declared and John watched as voiceless tears fell from the alpha’s flushed cheeks and pelted the table. 

John opened his mouth in a frantic attempt to calm Sherlock, to reason with the alpha, but Sherlock didn’t wait to hear him out. Sherlock spun on his heel and stormed out of the home, the front door slamming in his wake and John couldn’t move. His mind was screaming for him to run after Sherlock, to stop him, to beg for his forgiveness, but John didn’t. He couldn’t because he knew it was all hopeless. The only way he could convince Sherlock was by expressing his true feelings, and John knew he didn’t have the courage to. He had no right to.

_I’m damaged. I’m mentally unstable. I can’t say the words aloud though I feel them and now you’ve destroyed what you were mending. This love was too great and too fragile to last when I’m broken and you are hurt. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Don’t erase your love, don’t forget me. I need you to be the stronger one. You’re the alpha, be strong, don’t… Please, come back and love me. Sherlock… I need you._

John stared through his tears at the hazy door in horror and released the most frayed howl of grief he’d ever bayed. The sobs came then, powerful, treacherous, destroying sobs of absolute anguish for the love he’d lost, for the pain he’d endured, and the loneliness that he had yet to feel.

  



	25. Chapter 25

John didn’t know what to do. It was too late to go after Sherlock. His body had frozen as his tongue went dead of words and because of this… John was losing so much. He’d sat at the kitchen table for hours staring mutely at the shut door, waiting and hoping. Wishing with every fiber of his being that Sherlock would come home, storm back in and take back all those hurtful admissions he’d made. Sherlock didn’t come back to do that, though. 

John’s breathing became harsh and short abrupt keening layered each strained exhale of breath. Then John’s stomach roiled nauseatingly and he shot out from his chair and dashed across the flat. He slammed open the bathroom door, before falling to his knees before the toilet and retched out all the contents of his stomach. 

When the sickening churn settled and he’d dispelled the contents of his stomach, John pulled back from the toilet and leaned against the cool wall of the bathroom. Hugging his folded legs close to his chest, John rested his forehead against his knees and stopped fighting the urge to cry. The tears fell freely as he gave to heartache.

John wasn’t sure how long it was he lay there weeping, overcome with loss, but the tears lessened and he was finally able to gather his strength to exit the bathroom. John moved to sit himself in his red chair and waited for Sherlock’s return. A glance at the clock and John knew it was 2:17AM, Sherlock would return soon. It was already so late; Sherlock couldn’t possibly spend the whole night out. 

_2:42AM_

John wrapped his arms around his chest, shut his eyes and imagined that his arms belonged to the man he loved. 

_3:20AM_

John buried his head in his hands and focused on calming his erratic breathing and the panic attack threatening to consume.

_4:11AM_

John released a sorrowful whimper.

_5:50AM_

“He’ll come soon. He will. He has to.” John told himself, his voice raw and edgy as he glared at the clock.

_6:25AM_

John’s eyes stung from sleep deprivation and having cried. He knew he looked a mess and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care when the front door of the flat opened. Sherlock stood beyond it, head bowed low enough that John found it difficult to get a good look at him.

John hurriedly rose from the chair and rushed to stand before the silent alpha.

“Sherlock.” John softly greeted, wishing that his husband would meet his gaze so that he could reassure himself that Sherlock hadn’t done what he’d feared he’d done. 

Sherlock slowly raised his head up to meet his gaze and John felt his heart come to a sudden halt. Sherlock had never looked at him like he did now. Features void of emotion while those piercing gray depths held little recognition or care, as if John meant little to him. 

John stepped back, giving them a more socially appropriate space, his eyes stinging painfully as he realized Sherlock couldn’t distinguish him as the man he loved. All John was to Sherlock now was a familiar face, but Sherlock’s heart had forgotten him, forgotten the love he’d carried for him.

John thought he knew what a breaking heart felt like, but now he truly knew, because as those cold eyes stared at him with little care he was devalued in their union, in Sherlock’s life. All he was to Sherlock was the omega forced onto him by his family. He was no longer the John Watson Sherlock had been keeping watch of, the one person he loved more than life itself. 

Sherlock’s nose crinkled as he inhaled in John’s general vicinity and frowned with distaste. 

“You smell strange, like acidic medicine. Suppressants I assume.” Sherlock concluded and John winced at the confirmation that Sherlock had truly erased their love from his memory. 

“Yes.” John whispered shakily, blinking back the tears. “Where have you been?”

“Hmm? Not sure, I must have lost myself in my mind palace for some time, but when I became aware of my surroundings I was in a cab, heading back to Baker Street.” Sherlock explained, entering the flat and moving to the bedroom.

“Why are you still up?” Sherlock called to John as the omega mutely followed after him to the bedroom.

“Waiting for you.” John rasped and dolefully watched as Sherlock shrugged off his coat and scarf, retrieved his nightwear and began changing in front of him.

“That was not necessary. Our arrangement wasn’t of our own doing. You hardly need to play the role of a good little omega.” Sherlock clinically surmised. 

John sat himself on the bed and bowed his head low; clasping his hands tightly together he gave a curt nod of acceptance. Biting at his tongue, John choked back the sob threatening to be released. 

“Now then, I’m knackered. I think we both need some sleep.” Sherlock observed, glancing briefly over to the silent omega before he slipped under the covers of the bed and rolling to face away from John. 

John paused for a moment to look at Sherlock’s back and how the alpha faced away from him, so unlike how he’d always slept facing John and a choked sound, close to a whine broke the silence of the room. John watched as Sherlock shifted at the noise, not to turn and face him, nor to move closer to the middle of the bed, just to curve his body inward and couldn’t understand the response. 

Eventually, John moved under the covers and turned to face Sherlock’s back, and for long moments in time he just stared. Sherlock never moved, he remained still, his breathing regular and John knew he was awake, but refused to converse with him and it pained John. Sherlock held no desire to know him. He had no care for John and it was destroying his heart to see this. 

Daringly, John did what Sherlock had so often done with him and pressed a hand against the alpha’s shoulder blade. Immediately, Sherlock tensed against his touch, but did nothing more. He didn’t move closer to John, but he didn’t pull away either and this gave John a spark of hope. 

Moving himself near, until his body pressed solidly against Sherlock’s, spooning against his leaner, longer frame, John stubbornly wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s narrow waist and tucked his head against the alpha’s neck. His nose pressed up against the alpha’s scent gland where he inhaled noisily. Expecting Sherlock to pull away at any moment, John savored this moment of closeness. 

Sherlock didn’t pull away. He remained tense in his hold and John hardly breathed for fear that he might offset Sherlock even more and then the alpha would pull away. Seconds became minutes, and minutes became a half hour, and still Sherlock remained. The longer the time passed, the less tense Sherlock became, until he fully relaxed in John’s hold, exhaled a exhausted sigh and drifted off to sleep.

John remained awake for several minutes longer, nuzzling Sherlock’s scent gland, receiving some comfort in their nighttime scenting. Sooner than he expected he drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things between Sherlock and John changed vastly. It was all so painful to accept the change. To accept the staleness of their union, it was more civility than care, more respect than admiration, more socially acceptable than love. It was a great loss, but there was nothing John could do. Even if he told Sherlock about their argument and Sherlock’s decision to erase his love for John, it wouldn’t amount to much. Sherlock would accept John’s words as truth, but that love would still be absent. The only thing John could do now was to accept what he’d lost and hope that if Sherlock could fall in love with him once, than he could do so again. John would strive to strengthen himself, to accept himself for what he was now and what he could never be and hope Sherlock could see the same man he’d fallen for once.

“What are you typing?” Sherlock inquired of John who was typing quietly on his laptop, writing his blog while Sherlock drank from his cup of coffee and flipped through the papers of the newspaper.

“A blog.” John shot back, trying not to lose focus as he continued to type out his thoughts. Maintaining their growing website was taking a lot more time out of his day, but he felt so proud of his work. Finally Sherlock was achieving the admiration from the public, just like John knew Sherlock deserved. 

“About?”

“Us.”

“You mean me.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re typing a lot.”

John stopped typing to stare up at Sherlock, completely surprised how intuitive Sherlock could be when the doorbell rang. 

“Right then. So, what have we got?” Sherlock said more to himself than to John, newspaper forgotten as he set his cup of coffee down and went to open the front door.

Clients were pouring in now after John started his blogs and each case seemed interesting in their own way to John, but Sherlock was just so darn picky. A part of him understood, Sherlock needed a complex case to help keep his mind on its toes in a manner of speaking, and he wanted that for Sherlock. Still, Sherlock could work on his sensitivity with addressing potential clients. 

“My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office.” Their first client of the day told them. 

“Boring!” Sherlock declaring pacing the room and John was left with the awkward task of explaining that this case wasn’t something they could do.

“I think my husband might be having an affair.” Their second client admitted worriedly.

“Yes.” Sherlock declared and John felt sorry for the woman.

Clients kept coming and Sherlock kept declining and John was losing his patience with Sherlock’s inability to help, just because they weren’t fascinating.

“We have this web site. It explains the true meaning of comic books, because people miss a lot of the themes.” Their third client began and John could see Sherlock was preparing to decline and so too could this young boy, so he quickly added, “But then all the comic books start coming true.”

John smiled softly by the look of curiosity in Sherlock’s eyes. 

“Oh, interesting.” Sherlock murmured and then asked the boys to explain further. 

Later, after they had solved the case, John seated himself in his red chair and typed away on his blog.

“Geek Interpreter. What’s that?” Sherlock asked, leaning over John’s shoulder to read what he had typed so far on his blog.

“That’s the title.” John explained softly, his heart speeding up the longer Sherlock pressed over his shoulder. From this close, John could scent his alpha and it warmed his insides and all he wanted to do was turned to his right, and bury his nose against the pale flesh of Sherlock scent gland. 

“What does it need a title for?” Sherlock sniped before pulling away and John couldn’t suppress the amused smile upon his lips as he continued typing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock…” John called gently.

John stood before Sherlock; the consultant jotted in his journal, logging the recent developments of his newest experiment. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed distractedly, brow raised in voiceless question, though his eyes never strayed from his journal and his hand never stilled writing. 

“I… uh… I’m going to a local art exhibit and I… Would you like to come?” John bumbled, but eventually managed to ask what he truly desired. 

_Say ‘yes’, I want to go with you. I want things as they once were._

Sherlock didn’t reply, too focused in taking notes for his experiment. 

“Sherlock.” John pleaded for Sherlock to answer him.

“Hmm? Oh, right, art exhibit. Really, John? I have better things to do than stare at some art. Where’s the fun in that?”

John pursed his lips in a deep scowl; shut his eyes as he inhaled a deep breath. Shoulders slackening, John exhaled heavily and nodded with defeat.

“Right… I’ll just go on my own then.”

“Mm.” Sherlock never looked up at John and didn’t seem to notice when the omega exited the flat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do people actually read your blog?” Sherlock lashed out, and John merely sighed. Sherlock was quite temperamental these days and he knew he was just a fraction envious that John’s blog was doing so well.

“Where do you think our clients come from?” John countered Sherlock’s question with his own, feeling victorious by the look Sherlock sent his way.

“I have a web site.”

“In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco, which is why nobody’s reading your web site. Right then… Dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death except for these speckles. Whatever they are.” John made a sharp comeback. 

Oh, and if looks could kill, John was sure he’d be dead from the murderous glare Sherlock sent his way. Even Lestrade looked offset by the strangeness of their relationship. They’d once been so close Lestrade had to clear his throat more than once to get them to stop touching or staring at one another and focus on the case at hand. 

John smiled when Sherlock’s lips twitched faintly, knowing Sherlock wanted to deny John’s declaration, but couldn’t because of the truthfulness of it. Instead, Sherlock stormed off out of the morgue and John exhaled a breath of frustration. Sherlock was just too temperamental these days.

“Oh for God’s sake! The Speckled Blonde?” Sherlock bit out before storming off and John could only exhale a frustrated breath for what seemed like the umpteenth time. 

The cases kept coming and John assisted Sherlock time and time again. Their fan base grew and slowly, John felt himself grow comfortable in the strangeness that became their marriage. Legally they were married, physically bonded, but now they lived more like flat mates who happened to share a bed. 

They hardly ever touched in the day time, but for the exception when needing to help one another during a case, but those were few and rare. The only time they touched was at night when they slept in the same bed, and that was because of John. If Sherlock had it his way they wouldn’t touch in bed either. John was always the one who moved close to Sherlock, pressed his body against Sherlock’s and spooned him. Sherlock never leaned into his touch, nor did he willingly touch John back, but it was enough. It had to be enough. Sooner or later, Sherlock would fall for him again.

_Wouldn’t he?_

He had to hope this would come true, because if it didn’t… John wasn’t sure how he could cope. 

Sherlock was a frustrating man. This was a truth John had accepted long ago, but Mycroft was a complete ass, John would never accept. As they were in the middle of a case, Sherlock was taken by the gentlemen’s agents and John was left with no other choice but to get back to London and find his husband. 

Entering the Buckingham Palace to see his husband was not what he’d planned on. Nor was finding Sherlock still wrapped in their bed sheet, sitting in a sofa… with no pants. It was all so absurd and John couldn’t contain the laughter bubbling out of him. He stared lovingly at his eccentric husband who giggled along with him. 

“Buckingham Palace, right… I am seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.” John mused through a smile.

…

“What are we doing here? Sherlock, no, _seriously_. What?” John fought back the laughter while Sherlock tried to control his own. 

“I don’t know.” Sherlock finally admitted. 

“Here to see the Queen?” John pondered.

Then Mycroft entered the room.

“Oh! Apparently, yes.” Sherlock teased.

John broke into a fit of uncontrollable laughter and Sherlock quickly followed. Sherlock and John giggled, highly amused as they stared up at a extremely exasperated Mycroft.

“Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?” Mycroft wondered bitterly

“We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.”

John watched Sherlock and Mycroft converse. Sherlock wanted to leave and Mycroft wanted him to change and agree to help on a secretive, but apparently important case. 

“We are in Buckingham Palace. The very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.”

“What for?”

“Your client.”

“And my client is?”

“Illustrious. In the extreme. And remaining, I'll have to inform you, entirely anonymous.” An older gentleman said as he entered the room.

Sherlock and John watched as Mycroft greeted the other man, now known as Harry. 

“May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?” Mycroft courteously said to the older man.

“Full time occupation I imagine.” Harry answered humorously, and after greeting John, he then turned to regard Sherlock. “You look taller in your photographs.”

“Take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.” Sherlock shot back at the man.

John turned away for a brief moment, inhaling passed the throbbing pain of his aching heart. 

_Friend? I’m not your bloody friend Sherlock. I’m your husband, bond mate, the love of your life that you’ve deleted, but I’m not your friend!_

“Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work. Good morning.” Sherlock said swiftly making for the exit. 

Mycroft quickly stepped on Sherlock’s bed sheet, halting his exit as the sheet slipped off partly, revealing his chest.

“This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!” Mycroft chastised.

John winced knowing no one could force Sherlock into doing something he didn’t want to, especially Mycroft. This wasn’t going to end well.

“Get off my sheet!” Sherlock demanded.

“Or what?” Mycroft goaded. 

“Or I’ll just walk away.” Sherlock’s voice was even, taunting. 

John paled. 

_Good Lord, Sherlock might do it too._

“I’ll let you.” Mycroft called Sherlock’s bluff.

John couldn’t let Sherlock be pushed into doing something like this. The photographs, the press, poor Mrs. Holmes would have a heart attack, and John really wouldn’t like everyone eyeing what was only meant for his eyes. 

“Boys, please. Not here.” John attempted to take on the role of the mediator. 

“ _Who is my client?_ ”

“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. _Now, for God’s sake! Put your clothes on!”_

John watched Sherlock inhale deeply and force his tense form to relax; giving in, he let out the breath he’d held for so long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ll be mother.” Mycroft teased after Sherlock had changed and they all sat within the silence of the room.

“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock grumbled, the agitation still having not left Sherlock completely.

John stared over to Sherlock seated beside him and gave him a look, pleading with the alpha to not lose his temper, but Sherlock never regarded him. He was too busy glaring at the other two men seated across from them. 

Mycroft and Harry calmly explained that they wished for Sherlock’s assistance in settling a delicate matter, though they remained vague on said matter.

“You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?” Sherlock rationalized, obviously still not fully committed to taking on this case.

“People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?” Harry questioned.

“Mm... Not to date anyone with a navy.”

John’s lip twitched in a faint smile, Sherlock ever so cunning and amusing with his comebacks. At least that had remained the same.

“This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.” Mycroft elaborated.

“You don't trust your own Secret Service?” John was confused by Mycroft’s logic.

“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.”

“What do you know about this woman?” Mycroft questioned, showing them photographs.

“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock answered.

“Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately.”

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?” Sherlock gave in to curiosity. 

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” 

“Professionally?” John inquired.

“There are many names for what she does. She prefers dominatrix.”

“Dominatrix.” Sherlock repeated, contemplating this new information.

“Don't be alarmed. It has to do with sex.” Mycroft teased.

“Sex doesn't alarm me.” Sherlock snarled. 

“Is that why you two…” Mycroft glanced back and forth to Sherlock and John.

John flushed by the insinuation. Of course the always intrusive Mycroft was keeping watch over them; he was after all the family appointed mediator. That, and Mycroft was highly observant much like Sherlock and could surmise the two were lacking in that area of their married life. Not to mention, John’s scent was heavily laced with suppressants. John knew their marriage was unconventional and they were suffering from so many different problems, but it gave Mycroft no right to pick at it. 

Harry scenting the anger growing in John and in turn Sherlock broke the tension with a question of his own. “Will you take the case?”

“What case? Pay her. Now. And in full. As Ms. Adler remarks in her masthead, _know when you are beaten._ ”

“She doesn't want anything. She got in touch; she informed us that the photographs existed. She indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favor.”

Sherlock looked intrigued by this newfound information and John suddenly felt unsettled, never had Sherlock shown such interest in an individual, more at the case itself.

“ _Oh_ , a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. _Ooh_ , this is getting rather fun, isn't it?”

“Sherlock.” John reprimanded, pursing his lips and turned to stare at the eager alpha.

“Where is she?”

“Uh, in London, currently. She’s staying…”

“Text me the details. I'll be in touch by the end of the day.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

This Irene Adler filled John with unease. John didn’t like how suddenly Sherlock was filled with excitement and wonder where this dominatrix was concerned. He didn’t like it one bit and even as they drove back in a cab and Sherlock presented John with a token of their visit at Buckingham Palace (the very ashtray John had eyed), John’s stomach still churned nauseatingly with thoughts of The Woman.

John was used to the unconventionality of Sherlock. The incongruity of his approach, but this… _All for Irene Adler?_ Why was Sherlock trying so hard? John didn’t want to do this case, damn who was asking them to, this was unsettling.

“Punch you?” John asked incredulously.

“Yes. Punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?” Sherlock was exasperated, hating to repeat himself. 

“I always hear _punch me in the face_ , when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext.” John grumbled to himself, trying to continue this strained friendship that had become their marriage because Sherlock didn’t remember him, not as he should. 

Sherlock knew just what buttons to press and maybe John was still feeling upset—what with Sherlock deleting him from his memory as if he were nothing. Sherlock punching him with no regard to who he was… well, that was the last straw. And yes, John knew he had anger issues, but was he really to blame for losing his temper and attacking Sherlock without hesitation after being treated less than a husband? 

“Okay, I think we're done now, John.” Sherlock gasped through John’s choke hold, putting great effort to rein in John’s anger he’d brought to the forefront.

“You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people.”

“You were a doctor!”

“I had bad days!”

_Worse since I married you._

~~~~~~~~~~~

John despised Irene Adler. Especially when he’d left Sherlock for no more than a handful of minutes and when he returned he found Irene standing completely naked over Sherlock’s seated form with his clerical collar between her teeth.

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” John tried for casual, but when he met Sherlock’s eyes and the alpha broke eye contact with him, something within John wilted.

Irene pulled away at John’s presence, clearly scenting his irritation and sat herself in a chair across from Sherlock. She eyed him as if he were a piece of candy. John wanted to grab Sherlock and drag him out of the home and force Sherlock to drop the case. John’s omega growled within, territorial and protective of what was his, and Sherlock was his damn it. 

_Sherlock Holmes was his and no one else’s._

“Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait.”

“You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?”

“No, I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself.”

Irene Adler disturbed John more and more; because the more the two spoke the more it was apparent they were similar. Both were highly observant, capable of reading someone’s inner most secrets in mere minutes, manipulative, intelligent, and used to getting their way. 

Then there was the way Sherlock was looking at Irene… John grimaced at the open bewilderment, fascination, and wonder in Sherlock’s eyes. John’s greatest fear was happening. He was losing Sherlock to a beta and there was nothing he could do to stop it, because Sherlock didn’t remember the love he had for him. 

_Jesus, Sherlock, don’t fall for her. Don’t fall for her. Don’t fall for her. Don’t fall for her._

“Somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face I'd avoid your nose and teeth too.” Irene smirked knowingly, glancing smugly up at John, almost as if to say, ‘ _I’ll take him from you_.’

John suddenly felt sick to his stomach and like retching. John was going to kill her. How could she flirt so shamelessly with his husband when she knew Sherlock was his? Mycroft said she’d broken up a marriage just this year and he had to wonder how many other broken marriages was she responsible for? Would they be added to her list? No. Sherlock wouldn’t… He couldn’t…

_I won’t share you Sherlock._

“Could you put something on please? Ah, anything at all. Napkin?” John forced out through a scowl, hating that Sherlock kept scanning The Woman, trying to read her.

“Why? Are you feeling jealous?”

John glared at the beta before him.

“I don't think John cares.” Sherlock stated as if he truly believed it.

_I care, you complete idiot. I care far too much._

“No. I think he cares too much. Not sure about you.”

John hated that Irene could read him so easily. He hated even more her last observation… that Sherlock didn’t care. The smile she sent John’s way after observing such, told him Irene was going to try and take the place he should have inhabited. 

_‘He doesn’t remember, but he loves me. So step off!’_ John eyes clearly threatened an overconfident Irene.

Irene Adler simply raised a challenging brow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“…and you… like policemen?”_

_“I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.”_

_“Position of the car… Uh, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfires, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that’s all you need to know.”_

Sherlock had stuttered. Sherlock hardly ever stuttered. He’d only stuttered a few times and that was when it was in regards to John. Sherlock never seemed so unsure of himself or nervous, but before Irene Adler, Sherlock was different. Different in a way he’d never been with anyone else.

John was losing Sherlock. Sherlock’s attention was directed to another, a beta, and it was heart wrenching. Sherlock, for all his intelligence, couldn’t see John’s pain, couldn’t see John’s love. John wanted to scream. He wanted to punch Sherlock in the face again. He wanted to demand Sherlock remember him, remember the love he’d once possessed, and drop the case, forget about Irene Adler and never mention her name again. John couldn’t do any of these things because he’d lost his right. 

This was all John’s fault. He was the one who kept pushing Sherlock away, the one who continued to reject Sherlock’s love, the one to make his own decisions where it concerned their marriage. Because of John, Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the pain of countless rejections and denial of affection and chose the only choice left for him, as a way to soothe his own hurts. 

John shut his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek, and clamped his hands into tight fists when Sherlock’s mobile, ‘ _Aaahhh_ -ed’ with a new message from The Women. Endeavoring to convince himself it was only case related, that The Woman wasn’t trying to seduce his husband.

Mrs. Hudson was far more aware of John’s turmoil and made him some tea to soothe his nerves, but then that blasted ring tone of The Woman’s moan would sound and John would fight passed the sting of his eyes. Mrs. Hudson would then, grip his shoulder reassuringly, but it didn’t soothe the pain in his heart when Sherlock swiftly retrieved his phone to read the newest text. 

He asked more than once for Sherlock to change the ring tone, but Sherlock ignored him. Even Mrs. Hudson tried, but Sherlock never changed it.

Mycroft noticed the growing tension between them, mostly from John’s side and asked to speak with John privately. John didn’t want to talk with Mycroft, but when that blasted ring tone _Aaahhh_ -ed again and John conceded. John walked Mycroft downstairs and to a slick black car awaiting Mycroft’s appearance. The music of Sherlock’s violin could be heard from outside as they spoke. John felt his heart throb in pained acknowledgment knowing Sherlock was busy thinking—thinking of Irene. 

Mycroft demanded to know why John was on suppressants and Sherlock was treating him so coldly. John didn’t want to explain himself to Mycroft, but John was feeling so very overwhelmed in his current situation and a part of him hoped Mycroft might have an answer to his dilemma. He briefly explained he’d started back on suppressants because he wasn’t ready for intimacy after… and that Sherlock was angry with him, so much so he’d deleted his love for him. Mycroft hadn’t been expecting this, and hadn’t said anything other than a soft, ‘ _Oh_ ,’ and a remorseful, ‘I’m so sorry, John.’ 

John couldn’t take that, not from Mycroft. Mycroft feeling sorry for him… God, John must be such a pathetic omega to be receiving consolation from his alpha’s brother. 

Mycroft, however, did promise to talk with Sherlock and get him to take on the appropriate role as his husband. John didn’t think it would hold very much weight. Sherlock didn’t like Mycroft and wouldn’t willingly fold to Mycroft’s will. 

Mycroft’s talk had the adverse affect. Sherlock became fixated with Irene Adler and John couldn’t take it anymore. He left the flat and didn’t come back home until it was very late. Sherlock wasn’t at the flat and it worried John. Laying in their bed waiting for Sherlock’s return, John began wondering where Sherlock had gone and if he was still in contact with The Woman.

When Irene Adler was found dead, John knew how horrible it sounded, but he was relieved. The Woman was gone, no longer able to interfere in their marriage. Only… Only… there was the matter of Sherlock… 

“Have you found anything?” Mycroft asked of John.

“No. Did he take the cigarette?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

It hurt to know Sherlock took the cigarette. It hurt to know that someone Sherlock only just met meant something to him that it was a danger night and that he was mourning. Mourning meant Sherlock felt… John thought he was the only one. Now, Sherlock’s heart held a place for The Woman and that… That would slowly destroy John.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was only natural that Mycroft would want to know how Sherlock was doing, if they had to fear a relapse, but to send John to an abandoned warehouse was a bit much in his book.

“He's writing sad music. Doesn't eat. Barely talks. Only to correct the television. I'd say he was… he was heartbroken—” John stilled, standing before a very much alive Irene Adler.

“Hello, Dr. Watson.”

John felt pain and rage swell in heart. Pain, because The Woman was alive and with it, the possibility of his brittle marriage failing. Rage, because Sherlock was distressing from heartbreak because of this deceitful woman. 

“Tell him you're alive.” John demanded, knowing his marriage would be questioned with this revelation, but that Sherlock would stop wasting away.

“He'd come after me.”

Irene was right, and it pained John knowing Sherlock would.

“I'll come after you if you don't.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Irene grinned, knowingly.

“Look, I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safe keeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.”

Who the hell did this woman think she was, to flirt with his husband, to make Sherlock mourn for her, and then come to him for help?

“No.”

“It's for his own safety.”

“So's this: tell him you're alive.” 

“I can't.”

“Fine. I'll tell him. And I still won't help you.”

“What do I say?”

“What do you normally say? You've texted him a lot!” 

“Just the usual stuff.”

“There is no usual in this case.” John bitterly acknowledged. “You flirted with Sherlock Holmes? … _My husband_.” John’s voice broke at the last of his statements and he cursed himself for how hurt he’d sounded.

“At him. He never replies.” Irene admitted. John should have felt relieved to learn this, but he didn’t. There was no way John could feel comforted when he saw Sherlock mourn for Irene. 

“No, Sherlock always replies. To everything. He's Mr. Punch-line. He will outlive God trying to have the last word.”

“Does that make me special?”

John hated so many things about Irene Adler, but most of all he hated how she asked him this unbearable question. 

“I don't know, maybe.”

“You jealous?”

John glared. Of course he was jealous, in pain, grieving the loss of Sherlock’s love, but he wouldn’t acknowledge these things to the very woman who’d stolen his husband. 

“We're an arranged couple.”

“Yes you are.” Irene recognized, sending a text from her mobile. “There. _I'm not dead. Let's have dinner_.”

John closed his eyes and inhaled a pained breath of air.

“Look at us both, an arranged omega and a lesbian dominatrix done in by one Sherlock Holmes.”

The familiar ringtone of a cell phone from a distance caused both John and Irene to tense and glance in the direction of the noise.

_Sherlock._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think we have a client.” Sherlock called as John busied himself cooking in the kitchen of their flat.

“What, in our bedroom?” John joked, making his way to the room and found none other than Irene Adler sleeping on their bed. “ _Oh._ ”

John was furious. He could hardly contain his rage. This woman had no sense of decency. As she sat in the living room, John’s nostrils flared hating that the woman smelled of Sherlock and a bit like himself. The scent was disgusting. She smelled as if she was Sherlock’s second and it was excruciating. He hated most of all that Sherlock wasn’t upset with her. That he wasn’t behaving like a normal alpha would in this situation. 

Irene scented their den and marriage bed with her pheromones. She’d defiled their room with her scent. A normal alpha would have been enraged, except Sherlock wasn’t. Sherlock instead calmly had Irene explain herself and then agreed to assist her. 

They flirted, shamelessly in front of John. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice him during these times and that was far more paining a realization. 

“You're rather good.” Sherlock complemented.

“You're not so bad.” Irene teased fondly.

“Hamish!” John snarled loudly, causing the two to stare back at him startled into awareness that he was there. “John Hamish Watson, just if you're looking for baby names.” John grumbled, his heart hurt because even as he lay out his joke, he knew it was a possibility. Not that they would name a child after him, but that Sherlock could very well take Irene as his second and Irene would be able to offer Sherlock many children. John’s knuckles crackled as he clenched his fists and glared at the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John sat in his red chair across from Sherlock, staring sadly at his husband, wondering what exactly was going on in that mind of Sherlock’s. A painful tug at his heart, reminded him that Sherlock had recently deleted the love he had for John from his mind palace.

“Why are you on suppressants?” Irene broke the silence, entering the living area after showering, hair slightly damp. 

John’s fangs extended at the sight of Irene wearing one of Sherlock’s dress shirts and nothing else. The nerve of this woman, to sleep in their marriage bed, then to wear his husband’s shirt, John wanted nothing more than to throw her out of their home, but no—Sherlock wouldn’t be pleased with John when he slipped out of his mind palace and learned of what he’d done. 

“It’s none of your business.”

“Ooh, did I hit a sore spot?” Irene smirked arrogantly and crossed her legs, revealing smooth pale skin. 

John glowered at The Woman.

“I could take care of Sherlock for you.”

“Excuse me?” John voice grated, fangs gnashing together.

“You’re on suppressants. You can’t possibly take care of Sherlock’s needs. I can.”

John’s nails lengthened into threatening claws. Irene was going too far.

“You are not needed.”

“Oh? Really? From the way Sherlock has been behaving, it doesn’t seem like he minds my flirting.” 

“Sherlock doesn’t care for you.” John argued, though with little confidence, because he was unsure. 

“I could give him what you cannot.” Irene answered coolly.

John flinched regardless of his desire not to. He was nearly infertile and Irene was merely stating what he’d already contemplated. Irene _could_ give Sherlock what he couldn’t, a family. John could offer the possibility of one child and that child wasn’t a certainty. Irene, however, could give Sherlock a large family, one of the most important things an alpha instinctually wished for.

John glanced over to Sherlock still strumming at strings and muttering to himself. Sherlock promised him that John was all he needed. That it didn’t matter if they never had children. Having John by his side would be enough. All of those promises Sherlock had made were when he’d loved him, now though… Sherlock didn’t love John. All those promises were invalid and so to was the love Sherlock once had for him. 

If Irene were to proposition Sherlock and ask to become his second, John was no longer sure Sherlock would refuse her. Sherlock liked the control in Irene, how she enjoyed power playing her clients, the way she manipulated the situation to suit her needs. Sherlock liked Irene’s intelligence and craftiness. Sherlock might very well take Irene as his second and then what? 

What would John do if Irene became Sherlock’s second? Would Irene live with them? Would Irene take the spare bedroom or sleep in their room, forcing John to take the spare? Would Irene live in another country, as she traveled a lot, and Sherlock would travel back and forth between John and Irene? Would Sherlock stay for longer periods with Irene because she wasn’t on suppressants and was fertile? Would Sherlock give his heart to Irene and eventually abandon John? 

So many possibilities and all tortured John’s wounded heart. 

“John?” Irene called.

John met Irene’s gaze weakly, the fight in him had faded. What was there to fight for? Even if he tried, even if he succeeded in convincing Sherlock to refuse Irene and remain faithfully his, John was still broken and would never be able to give Sherlock what Irene could.

John felt sick. He couldn’t get rid of Irene, because of Sherlock. He couldn’t fight for Sherlock, because it wasn’t fair to bind his husband in a fruitless union. But John couldn’t just sit here and watch Irene flirt with Sherlock. So John rose to his feet, met Irene’s curious stare with one of conflicted dissatisfaction and walked out of the flat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where's John?” Sherlock searchingly scanned the flat.

“He went out. A couple of hours ago.” 

_More like stormed out._ Irene thought to herself. Sherlock agreed to take her case and offered her the spare room to sleep in. John was unable to voice his animosity for Sherlock’s decision for whatever reason. Irene refrained from grinning too wildly. _And foolishly left you in my hands_.

“I was just talking to him.” Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion.

“He said you do that.”

…

“I'd be delicate with you if you let me have you.”

“I’m sorry?” Sherlock was at a loss as to what Irene was implying.

“As your second.”

“I don’t need a second.” Sherlock answered promptly, features void of any emotion.

“You forget, Sherlock. I’m a fan of yours. I read the papers. John can’t give you what I can.”

Irene smirked.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, lips pursing into a tense frown.

“You would do that for me?”

“It is a possibility.” Irene smiled predatorily. 

Sherlock leaned heavily against his chair, eyeing Irene circumspectly.

“Let's have dinner.”

“Why?”

“You might be hungry.”

“I'm not.”

“Good.”

“Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?”

“Oh, Mr. Holmes, if it was the end of the world—if this was the very last night—would you have dinner with me?”

“Sherlock!”

“Too late.”

“It's not the end of the world, it's Mrs. Hudson.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.” Mycroft let out a heavy sigh.

“No.” Sherlock broken in. 

“Sorry?” Irene raised an inquisitive brow.

“I said, no. Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.”

“No such thing as too much.”

“Oh enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathize entirely. But _sentiment_ , sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.”

“Sentiment. What are you talking about?”

“You.”

“Oh dear god, look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes? The clever detective in the funny hat?”

“No. Because I took your pulse.” Sherlock whispered, feeling Irene’s pulse once more. “Elevated. Your pupils dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive.”

Irene stared as Sherlock pulled away and walked across the room to face her, his eyes void of emotion as she came to realize how, for the first time, she wasn’t getting what she wanted. That Sherlock had played her.

“When we first met you told me that disguise is always a self portrait—how true of you. The combination to your safe—your measurements. But this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart. And you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you worked for. But you just couldn't resist it, could you? I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.”

“Everything I said, it's not real. I was just playing the game.”

“I know. And this is just losing.”

_I am SHER-locked_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was starting to learn he should never expect to know why Mycroft sent for him, but seating himself across from the older gentleman in a quite restaurant, he hadn’t been expecting this.

“He'll be okay with this. Witness protection, never seeing her again? He'll be fine.”

“I agree. That's why I decided to tell him that.”

“Instead of what?”

“She's dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and was beheaded.

“It's definitely her? She's done this before.”

“I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me. And I don't think he was on hand. Do you? So…” Mycroft paused, pushing the file over to John. “What should we tell Sherlock?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_“Did she ever text you again, after all that?” John asked softly._

_“Once. A few months ago.”_

_“What did she say?”_

_“Goodbye Mr. Holmes.”_

John had his suspicions; something about the way Sherlock looked at him and didn’t look at him all at the same time, how his posture was far too casual, and his lips slightly tense, it all filled John with doubt. Did Sherlock… had he saved Irene’s life and then faked her death?

John wanted to ask, but he couldn’t. If he asked, and Sherlock hadn’t, he’d have revealed Irene was truly dead. If he didn’t ask, well then he’d be plagued with unanswered questions, and the realization that if it weren’t true, Sherlock might in fact care more for Irene than he thought. Even Mycroft wasn’t sure about Sherlock’s feelings where Irene Adler was concerned. Sherlock’s heart was something of an unknown, Mycroft and John couldn’t figure it out.

John wasn’t sure what it had been. This whole ordeal with Irene had worn him out, body and soul. As he lay across from Sherlock in their bed that didn’t seem quite like theirs anymore. After they’d found Irene in their bed, John had angrily washed the sheets four times, but the memory of Irene lying in their bed sent John raging. Eventually, he’d thrown the bedding away and replaced it with a new set. John glared at Sherlock that night daring him to say something in regards to the change, but Sherlock simply stared at the bedding, then at John, before breaking eye contact and getting in bed. John glanced over to Sherlock now. The alpha’s back facing him and blinked away the dampness in his eyes. This no longer felt like their marriage bed. It felt like Sherlock was no longer his. The Woman had stolen Sherlock from him. Not physically, at least John didn’t think so. No, The Woman had stolen Sherlock’s thoughts. 

Sitting up in the stillness of the night, John glanced over the alpha’s still form, dark curls shielding Sherlock’s eyes. 

_I love you._ John thought to himself, rising from the bed and wordlessly left their room.

He couldn’t keep loving Sherlock when the alpha had forgotten their love and swapped the place in his heart with The Woman. John entered the spare bedroom that once had been his and was now his once again. Boxes stacked to one side of the room, full of all the things they’d once purchased for their children they’d lost. John shakily opened one of the boxes and laughed throatily when he found the very same bear Sherlock picked out for their pups. Raising the stuffed bear to hold near his chest, John fondly stroked the soft round ear.

_I’ve lost my pups and my husband. What is left for a broken solider?_ John morbidly thought to himself as he lay himself in bed and rested his head against the chest of the stuffed bear, closing his eyes and allowing the soft fur of the bear to soak up his tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock woke later that night feeling off, something not feeling right in the fog of sleep, enough so that it unsettled Sherlock and woke him from his rest. It took him less than a minute to realize that he’d felt cold with the loss of warmth from his omega.

Sherlock glanced around the empty room and bit his bottom lip nervously. 

John was hurting. Sherlock knew this. He hurt his husband in the pursuit of a case and he couldn’t understand the constant painful throbbing of his heart every time John looked at him in that way. In the way that seemed to plead with him to pull away from The Woman. 

Sherlock shouldn’t have stared at The Woman as she was naked. Sherlock shouldn’t have kept that ring tone after the first time John asked him to change it. Sherlock shouldn’t have let The Woman flirt with him. Sherlock shouldn’t have enticed The Woman to gain the upper hand. Sherlock shouldn’t have allowed the woman to sleep in their bed. Sherlock shouldn’t have done all the things that had pained his omega, but he had, because he hated how his heart felt so affected by a simple look the omega sent him. Sherlock didn’t want to be ruled by sentiment so he did everything to spite John and prove to himself that he could remain unaffected. Sentiment was something he prided himself in never feeling for another. But this… this strangely felt a lot like sentiment. It bothered Sherlock, enough so that he stopped eating, stopped talking, and played his violin for days, trying to figure it all out. 

Now, after The Woman was gone, Sherlock was even more frustrated with himself. He’d felt a fascination for Irene. She was so unlike any person he’d ever met, but still… Something wasn’t quite right. He liked her, but no more than a kindred spirit. Someone like himself, but not quite. He felt comforted to have met someone who was so close to his intellectual level, but… there was something missing. Sherlock didn’t feel anything in regard to Irene, not like what he felt for John.

And as puzzling as it was, after he’d saved The Woman’s life, he felt great guilt towards John, as if he’d been unfaithful in some way. But it really shouldn’t have bothered him if he had been, because John was his arranged omega. That was all John was to him, nothing more. 

That was what confused Sherlock the most. John was just the omega his parents forced onto him, someone he’d be stuck with. But it didn’t quite feel like a burden, more like a gift the longer he spent with the omega. Sherlock appreciated John’s medical knowledge as they worked cases, how the omega kept their home tidy, how the omega always prepared his meals (though most times he refused to eat or ate little), how at night the omega would wrap his arms around him and hold him so close, and so much more. Sherlock liked all of these things. 

Then The Woman came and Sherlock failed. He kept hurting John and now John was pulling away. It shouldn’t have bothered Sherlock, but it did. Now, he sat up in an empty bed, knowing that the omega had left him, most likely to take the spare room and there was nothing he could do. Of course there was something he could do, but his pride wouldn’t let him. Sentiment was a weakness, and Sherlock could not afford to be weak. Still, his pride could do nothing to soothe the pain in his throbbing heart.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock whispered in the stillness of the room.

Wetness slid down his neck and Sherlock’s brows furrowed in confusion. When he raised a hand to touch his neck, his fingers glided up the trail and over his cheek. Only when his vision fogged did Sherlock realize what the wetness was... tears. He was crying. 

_What? How? Why?_

Sherlock couldn’t understand what was going on with him. Why was he crying? He never cried, unless he was acting the emotional role for a case. He couldn’t remember the last time he _genuinely_ cried.

Something was seriously wrong and the worst part about it was he couldn’t seem to figure out where to start deducing. He never had to deduce himself, but now, Sherlock knew that in order to understand himself, he’d have to turn his evaluations internally in order to find the truth. 

Only, where should he start?

  



	26. Chapter 26

Three months after The Woman came into their lives, John was still coping with the staleness that had become their miserable married life. They were living on autopilot where their marriage was concerned. John made their meals, Sherlock refused to eat them most days, and when he did eat, it was very little. Sherlock slept in his room downstairs and the spare room upstairs became John’s once more. John worked at the clinic most days, usually managing one or two days off in the week. On his days off he stayed away from Sherlock, going out to run errands, visit Harry and his parents, and went around the city. Sherlock didn’t verbally invite John on cases and after working Irene Adler’s case together, John didn’t much want to work on cases with Sherlock anymore. He’d helped on three of the dozen cases Sherlock was called to consult on by Lestrade. 

John wanted to spend his nights off with Sherlock, but when John looked at Sherlock he remembered The Woman and drew back. Instead, John would mutter how he was going out with Lestrade. The DI was a rather nice man, and John felt comfortable in his presence. It was strange John felt such since Lestrade was an alpha, but, as he’d learned from Sherlock, not all alphas were bad. Most times they went out to a bar and drank, participated in bar trivia, and they always had a great time together. Still, there were times when Lestrade good-naturedly wrapped an arm around John, sat close, or when they went to Lestrade’s place that the omega within would feel unease. The omega within warning him of the dangers of being so close to an alpha other than his bond mate, but John shrugged those worries aside, because Lestrade was a friend. John trusted Lestrade. 

One of the many nights that John went out with Lestrade they spent several hours at their favorite bar playing trivia, had a few drinks and then decided to go back to Lestrade’s for some coffee. John sat himself in one of the chairs within the living room, sipping from his cup of warm coffee while Lestrade reclined back in another chair and smiled over at him.

“How are things going with Sherlock?” Lestrade asked kindly, concern in his warm eyes. 

John smiled weakly and gave a brief shake of his head. 

“Not good, then?”

“Could be better.” John acknowledged. “How is he when working on cases?”

“The same as ever, although…” Lestrade hesitated, eyeing John uncertainly. 

“What? What is it?” John straightened in his seat.

“Nothing really, or I think it’s nothing. Just… He talks out loud. Not like he never does that, but I don’t know. It’s like he’s talking to someone and not himself.”

John pursed his lips. Sherlock never behaved that way when they were together.

“It’s probably some technique he uses to solve cases.” Lestrade reassured the worry he scented on John.

“Maybe.”

John asked Lestrade about his recently finalized divorce and Lestrade told him how he was doing. The divorce being finalized. John felt sorry for Lestrade. He wished Lestrade’s marriage hadn’t ended, but the rate for divorces with police officers were sadly higher than most. Some people just couldn’t be the spouse of a police officer, and sadly Lestrade’s ex-wife was one of those. 

“You’ll find someone better.” John soothed. 

“I’m forty-three years old, John.” Lestrade laughed bitterly.

“You never know, some people have an age kink.” John joked, smiling smugly. 

Lestrade laughed genuinely and John laughed along with him. 

“Yeah, I guess there are those too, and I have one in mind.” Lestrade answered, smile turning tender and John wondered who Lestrade was referring to.

John took another sip of his coffee and wondered dejectedly what Sherlock was doing right then. Most likely experimenting or dissecting a human organ, and all John wanted to do was be there beside him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the early part of the evening Sherlock occupied his time with experimenting on eyes, but as it got later into the night, he found himself glancing over to the clock and frowning.

John never spent his days off with him anymore, and Sherlock shouldn’t care — he didn’t.

Not really… 

Still, a bound omega shouldn’t be spending nights out with another alpha. It wasn’t proper. 

Sherlock dropped his scalpel to the table when he glanced once more at the clock and read 11:55PM. He prided himself in deductions and he’d deduced John’s clothing before he’d left—he’d been dressed to go out, and he went out with Lestrade. Each time John went out with Lestrade, no matter where they went, John always, _always_ returned by 11:00PM. Never a minute later than that, yet now… John still had yet to return. 

Sherlock paced the living area, growing exceedingly restless. 

“What does he think he’s doing?” Sherlock asked himself aloud, a grating growl rumbling from out of his chest, the alpha within itching to come to the surface. 

Omegas didn’t cheat. They were never unfaithful. They are wholly monogamous. John would always be faithful to him, Sherlock knew this. From everything the omega had ever demonstrated, he was a man of strict morals. Lestrade, however — Sherlock didn’t trust the other alpha. 

Lestrade was a good man, yes, but Lestrade was an alpha, and omegas were appealing to alphas. True, John was taking suppressants and his scent was a sexual put off, but the longer Lestrade spent with John, he could grow a fondness for Sherlock’s husband. Lestrade was a man of sentiment and if John wasn’t careful he could receive the affections of Lestrade. 

Sherlock grimaced at the very idea of Lestrade falling in love with John. It was a disgusting thought that sent his stomach churning sickeningly and his heart pulsing painfully. 

_12: 48AM._

Sherlock growled another frustrated snarl, swiping clawed hands across the study table and sending a mess of books and papers scattering to the ground. Images of Lestrade pressing John against a wall, nosing the expanse of his neck, scenting the blond, flashed in Sherlock’s mind.

_1:29AM_

Sherlock, seated in his gray leather chair, glared at the clock as the seconds ticked by, fingers pressed at the underside of his chin as he shut his eyes and took in deep breaths. 

_2:44AM_

Sherlock paced the living area once more, though with less control; the alpha slowly rumbled an animalistic snarl as he prowled the floor, puffing out grating growls with every exhale. 

_3:33AM_

Sherlock stared at his cell phone. No calls, no voice messages, and no texts. Nothing. Sherlock threw his cell phone against the wall and scoffed when it shattered into pieces. 

_5:50AM_

Sherlock stood in front of the window overlooking the city, staring out at the stillness. The streets were empty of cars. Most buildings’ lights were shut off as the civilians slept.

_6:43AM_

Sherlock tensed when he made out a shadowed figure hurriedly jogging from across a building, coming closer into view. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed angrily when he made out the flash of blond hair and a rumble of resentment vibrated through his chest.

Sherlock looked away as John rushed the remaining distance to their flat. Turning away from the window, Sherlock left the living area, slammed the door to his bedroom and fell back onto his bed. Staring up at the ceiling, Sherlock picked up the rattling of keys from a distance and the muffled sound of the shutting front door as John entered the flat.

_What did you do John?_

Sherlock closed his eyes, and focused on calming his erratic breathing, ignoring the pain in his chest, and the way his eyes stung. Though he wished to think about anything else, images of Lestrade touching John kept making their way into his mind. 

Logically, Sherlock knew John couldn’t have slept with Lestrade, because John was on suppressants, he had no sex drive, and he was a faithful omega… But that didn’t mean that Lestrade couldn’t kiss John, that Lestrade couldn’t scent his omega, or that love couldn’t develop. 

Sherlock refused to talk to John. Refused to wait for him to enter the flat for fear that he’d scent the other alpha on John. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he scented Lestrade on John. 

_Sentiment is a weakness I will not contaminate my mind with._

Clawed fingers dug into the comforter, fangs ground together, eyes clamped shut attempting to rid painful images from being.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John never meant to sleep over at Lestrade’s. They’d stayed up late talking, and then decided to watch a movie, ‘Saving Private Ryan’. It was a classic, and towards the middle, John’s eyelids felt heavy. John didn’t think he’d fall asleep. There was about another hour left of the movie and he thought he could stay awake for the rest. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

Much like himself, Lestrade fell asleep. The two seated on opposite ends of the sofa slept through the movie and most of the night. The only reason John woke up, was because of Lestrade’s mobile going off. 

Lestrade woke to answer it and was called in for a homicide. Lestrade offered to give John a ride, but John declined as Lestrade had to work. 

John rushed home to find Sherlock was already in his room and frowned. A part of him, knowing how terrible it was to want it, but a part of him had hoped Sherlock had stayed up waiting for him. So many nights John had waited up for Sherlock, but his husband didn’t care about him. 

Sherlock didn’t care that John had befriended Lestrade — an alpha, or that he spent the night at another alpha’s domain. John shook his head, shaking those thoughts out of his mind. What had he wanted really? This was better. Lestrade was a good person and it wasn’t like they’d done anything sordid. It was better Sherlock was a calm alpha and wouldn’t let his alpha dominate him. Another alpha in Sherlock’s situation would have become enraged and have fought the alpha that had been too friendly with their bond mate. Only thing was that those alphas actually cared about their mates and Sherlock didn’t care for him. Not anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft didn’t like intruding on Sherlock’s and John’s married life, no matter how they might think he enjoyed it. No. Relationships were a sticky business and he’d rather keep his hands clean, but Mycroft couldn’t do so now. Not after what his agents reported.

The CCTV videos had shown many unsettling things. John spent the night at another alpha’s home. Sherlock stayed up all night waiting for John’s return. When John returned, Sherlock had hidden in his room. 

So, here Mycroft was, knocking at a dark wooden door, awaiting an answer. A moment later the door swung open and revealed a surprised Lestrade standing beyond it. 

“Mycroft?”

“Lestrade, may I come in. I have some things I’d like to discuss.” Mycroft pursed his lips. He hadn’t spoken to Lestrade much as of late. They had communicated more in the past when they’d both been monitoring Sherlock as he’d been addicted to drugs and working cases. 

When Lestrade and Mycroft were seated in the living area, Mycroft took notice that the sofa he was seated in smelled of Lestrade and John. 

“So, what is this about?” Lestrade was curious. 

“What is your relationship with John Watson?” Mycroft shot out his own question.

Lestrade raised a brow, but then a smug smile sprouted.

“Why? Jealous?” 

Mycroft paused. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Lestrade cooed sweetly and Mycroft remained voiceless.

_What…?_

“Are you… flirting with me?” Mycroft inquired confounded. 

Lestrade leaned back in his seat, crossed his legs and noticeably scanned the gentleman’s form.

“Don’t tell me you never noticed. I’ve always been rather fond of you. I’m single and I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

Mycroft was befuddled. 

“I…” Mycroft shut his mouth, not expecting this. 

_Wasn’t Lestrade supposed to be interested in John?_

“Mycroft with nothing to say? Wow, this is a pleasant surprise.” Lestrade chuckled happily. 

Lestrade wasn’t lying. Mycroft knew how to spot a lie. There was only sincerity in Lestrade’s eyes, but still.

“What happened between you and John last night?” Mycroft found his voice once more.

Lestrade remained silent for a moment, contemplating on whether or not he should say. 

“We met at a bar, had a few drinks, played trivia, went back to my flat to have coffee, talked a bit, watched a movie, and then slept on that sofa. It was all innocent, mind you. I slept on the left side and John on the right. We never even touched in our sleep.”

Mycroft shut his eyes briefly and nodded with relief, though for his brother’s marriage remaining untarnished or that Lestrade wasn’t involved with John, Mycroft couldn’t tell.

“Sherlock says you’re single.”

“Pardon?” Mycroft’s eyes snapped open immediately.

“John says you’ve never dated.”

“John doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Mycroft grumbled.

“So you date?”

Mycroft said nothing and Lestrade stared critically at him, as if he could deduce his secrets. 

“I don’t think you’ve ever dated. You don’t seem like you even know how to flirt.”

Mycroft frowned. He hadn’t come to talk about his personal tendencies. 

“Are you interested in John?”

“No. Are you interested in me?”

“That has nothing to do with this.” Mycroft edged away, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your time. I must leave.”

“You don’t have to.”

Mycroft paused, mid-skimming of his hands over his suit, smoothing away the invisible creases.

“Have dinner with me. I just put some lasagna in the oven.”

“That’s not necessary.” Mycroft edged away from the other alpha and closer to the front door, feeling trapped. 

Lestrade’s smile faltered and he gave a soft nod.

“Another time then?”

Mycroft didn’t answer, merely turned away from the alpha and rushed for the door. Needing to get the hell out of the other alpha’s presence and collect his thoughts. 

“Mycroft.” Lestrade called as the gentleman opened the front door on his way out.

Mycroft turned and met Lestrade’s kind eyes. 

“I meant what I said. I’ve always been rather fond of you.” 

Mycroft swallowed thickly, nodded jerkily and bolted.

Lestrade laughed softly, staring at the shut door and sighed heavily.

“Just my luck, falling for a Holmes.” Lestrade muttered to himself and made his way to the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock was acting out of the ordinary, more eccentric than usual. When John woke, showered and went downstairs later that morning, he found Sherlock seated in front of his microscope looking through the lenses.

John wordlessly entered the kitchen and started preparing them a late breakfast, though he expected Sherlock to refuse the meal. After he’d finished making biscuits and gravy, wirh a side of fruit salad, he set up the table and let Sherlock know breakfast was ready. 

Sherlock didn’t refuse John’s offer of breakfast. Seating himself across from the omega, Sherlock ate. John watched Sherlock in wonder for several minutes, before he ate himself. John smiled broadly when Sherlock finished his plate and happily took it and began cleaning up after them as Sherlock went back to his microscope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John told Sherlock he was going out grocery shopping. He didn’t expect that the alpha would rise from the leather chair where he’d been sitting in his popular thinking pose, and said he’d be joining him. John stared on in confusion. Sherlock never went grocery shopping with him, but John wasn’t going to refuse the alpha’s wish. The two left the flat together and Sherlock stayed at John’s side as he shopped around the grocery store collecting all they needed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John finished an early shift and headed back to the flat. When he entered he found Sherlock standing by the living room window, fiddling with the strings of his violin, tuning them. John briefly acknowledged that Sherlock could have seen him make his way to the flat if he’d bothered to look.

Bowing his head, John shook that particular thought away. That couldn’t be. Sherlock would never bother looking for him. He just barely registered in Sherlock’s life. Not bothering to look at the alpha, John went upstairs to his newly appointed room and readied himself to go out. Might as well go to the local café, it was jazz night, and it would be best to keep his distance from Sherlock. 

John dressed in his finest. Dressing up and treating himself to a night out was better than wallowing in his sorrows. He’d done enough of that to last him years and Sherlock didn’t care about him. Sherlock didn’t love him. Sherlock didn’t need him. These were the things John needed to remind himself of daily. Sooner or later, this love would lessen and he could move on with his life. He had to believe that it would happen. If he couldn’t… John couldn’t think about what life would be like if he could never let go of this love. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked, facing the window, back to John as the omega bounded down the stairs and headed for the front door. 

John paused to glance over to Sherlock’s back and stared on wearily. 

“Out.”

Sherlock said nothing, but there was a tension is his shoulders John hadn’t noticed before, but John wasn’t going to fool himself. He wasn’t going to read too much into it, because it had nothing to do with him.

_Sherlock chose Irene. Sherlock doesn’t care. Sherlock doesn’t love me. Sherlock doesn’t need me._

“I’ll be out late.” John spoke softly, turned and exited the flat without another word.

As John crossed the street of their flat the cords of a somber violin piece pierced at his heart. John blinked back the tears that formed in his tired eyes, shook his head, and rushed off.

_Sherlock chose Irene. Sherlock doesn’t care. Sherlock doesn’t love me. Sherlock doesn’t need me._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John returned home just after midnight and found the alpha quietly seated at the kitchen table, cleaning up his science equipment. Sherlock didn’t raise his head to meet John’s gaze as he shut the door of the flat and John didn’t bother to talk with the alpha. John turned and headed up to his room.

_Sherlock chose Irene. Sherlock doesn’t care. Sherlock doesn’t love me. Sherlock doesn’t need me._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was reading a book within the living room of their flat when Sherlock’s phone rang and the alpha pushed back a petri dish to answer it. A moment after Sherlock hung up, he grabbed his coat and scarf and headed for the door.

John watched as Sherlock wrapped himself up in his coat and scarf and his gaze faltered when gray eyes met his stare.

“I have a case.” Sherlock explained and John nodded his head with understanding.

“Would you like to join me?” Sherlock asked, surprising John as Sherlock hadn’t verbally asked him to join him on a case in so long.

Then the memories of Irene Adler flashed in his mind and John hated how even by just a memory of The Woman he noticeably flinched. Sherlock chose Irene and John wasn’t so sure Irene was dead, not with how Sherlock had responded to his news when he’d said she’d gone into witness protection.

_Sherlock chose Irene. Sherlock doesn’t care. Sherlock doesn’t love me. Sherlock doesn’t need me._

“Nngh—I… No.” John faltered and looked down at his book. 

John didn’t raise his gaze to meet Sherlock’s. Not sure what he’d find in those cold, unfeeling eyes. Several long moments passed in silence and John refused to raise his head. He was done trying. Done being hurt. Done seeing Sherlock pull away anymore. 

_I won’t go. I won’t get close. No. Not when you’ll pull away, because you don’t love me anymore._

“Right then.” A nasty snarl broke the silence and John recoiled when the front door opened and slammed shut. The distant pounding of Sherlock’s angry steps down the stairs beyond the door thundered and John furiously threw his book across the room and gripped his hair with frustration.

_You selfish man! You deleted me from your memory and you want me to be at your beck and call? No. I need space. I need to let go._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock had failed dismally. He’d lost John’s attention, his affection. John didn’t care for him. What little affection had been there was now gone. John no longer waited up for him. John slept routinely in the spare room. After that first night Sherlock woke alone in bed, the omega had moved his things back upstairs. John still made their meals, but he didn’t urge Sherlock to eat. His omega no longer spent his free time with him. He would rather go out than spend his day with Sherlock. No longer did John join Sherlock on cases.

Sherlock knew. He knew that John’s change occurred because of Irene, because of the way he’d behaved. If he’d known that by ignoring his instincts and the silent request of his omega John would pull away as he was now, he wouldn’t have responded so cruelly. But it had frustrated him, frustrated him to know that John affected his alpha within. How could his instinct push him to respond so readily for a complete stranger, because that was what John was to him. 

John was a stranger. An omega his parents forced onto him. Someone he knew little of and wished to share little with. However, that wasn’t how Sherlock truly felt. He shouldn’t feel this way, but a part of him remaining unidentified wanted to be close to the omega. 

Another thing that bothered Sherlock was how his mind felt unsettled as if something was off—missing. Something was missing and Sherlock couldn’t figure out what it was. It was as if it were over the horizon, just needing a bit more time to make its presence known. Something needed to happen to get him over the hill to overlook the truth set at an unachievable distance. What that was still remained unclear, but Sherlock wanted it. He desperately needed to find that truth, the one constantly nagging in the back of his mind wishing to be revealed but being locked away somewhere unknown. 

Sherlock spent hours — _days_ — searching through the layers of his mind palace, opening countless doors in search of something he needed to remember. He couldn’t find it. It was driving him mad and he screamed within his mind palace, breaking vases, upturning chairs, knocking down book shelves, taking a sledge hammer to walls, trying to find the secrets of his mind palace. 

His mind palace no longer felt like a safe place, more like a taunting reminder that there was something within that was hidden even from him. That didn’t make sense, because it was _his bloody mind palace_ , but that was what it felt like. Sherlock could only surmise that there was something he should remember, but for whatever reason he’d hidden it away, so well, that he couldn’t find his way back to it. 

_What have I hidden? What the bloody hell is it I can’t remember?_

Sherlock stared out the window of the living room overlooking the busy city, pedestrians walking the sidewalks, cars speeding down the streets, and morbidly wondered what John was doing with Lestrade that very moment. 

_Will you come back home tonight, or will you spend the night with Lestrade?_

Sherlock absentmindedly bit his bottom lip, worrying the tender flesh, fingers drumming erratically against his thighs as he further considered this disconcerting idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s getting late John. Sherlock will be waiting for you.” Lestrade said as they sat together in the DI’s flat, watching the late night news.

John pursed his lips and sent Lestrade a look.

“You don’t think he is?” Lestrade smirked knowingly and took a swig of his beer.

“ _I know_ he isn’t.”

Lestrade said nothing. Nodded his head slowly, accepting John’s beliefs, though a part of him wanted to deny such a thought. Lestrade saw the way Sherlock acted around John, it was so very clear he was in love, but now… Now, with the way Sherlock had been behaving as of late, Lestrade began to wonder if he was wrong. 

“Well, if you’re going to stay the night again, take my room. I’ll take the couch.” Lestrade offered with a sigh, glancing over to the clock that read 12:23AM. He should get some sleep soon; he’d have to wake early for work. 

“What? No. Lestrade, I can’t take your bed.” 

“Look, John. It’s fine. I like the couch anyways; I’ve slept on it before. It’s fine.”

John frowned, but Lestrade just ushered John in the direction of his room. 

“Lestrade.” John said after Lestrade had shown him to his room and started heading back to the living room again.

“Yeah?” Lestrade turned to face John.

“Thank you.”

Lestrade nodded, feeling slightly guilty as he knew that though he was helping John out, he was also doing this for more selfish reasons — like having another surprise visit from a certain government official.

“Don’t mention it.”

John smiled fondly as the DI exited the room and he laid himself in Lestrade’s bed. Shutting his eyes, John tried to work beyond the omega within roiling angrily as his scent mixed with Lestrade’s alpha’s scent, thickly layering the sheets. 

_Sherlock chose Irene. Sherlock doesn’t care. Sherlock doesn’t love me. Sherlock doesn’t need me._

The dampness of John’s eyes disappeared the harder he clenched his eyes shut, and soon relaxed as sleep overtook him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John returned back to Baker Street at 8:23AM. As he’d made his way back he’d received several strange looks and he could only imagine what people thought of him. He was bonded, the mark on his neck a clear indication he was mated. His scent was a mixture of his own and his bond mate, another alpha, and suppressants. The stories people would be telling about the strange omega they wandered passed, John could only imagine.

When he entered the flat, he released a sigh of relief, having finally made it home and away from the confused, judgmental, and stunned looks of strangers. A chair scraping against the floor had John’s eyes snapping back open and barely catching the sight of his husband’s back as the tall alpha strode out of the kitchen and down the hall to his room where a door shut loudly, but not hard enough to be considered a slam. 

John bowed his head guiltily and exhaled a deep breath. 

_Sherlock chose Irene. Sherlock doesn’t care. Sherlock doesn’t love me. Sherlock doesn’t need me._

John turned and headed to his own room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_John’s cheating? With Lestrade? Lestrade!? That incompetent detective who seeks my consultations? Does John love him? He won’t sleep with him because he’s an omega, but they scented. He smells heavily of Lestrade. Why do I care? I don’t care._

Sherlock halted pacing within his bedroom and confusedly raised his sore hands up to his line of vision, realizing his claws had extended and he’d dug them deeply into his palms, blood trailed along his wrists and stained the cuffs of his designer shirt.

“Sentiment is a weakness I cannot afford.” Sherlock told himself and retrieved a napkin to dab away the blood. 

“I don’t care about that omega.” Sherlock hated the way his stomach coiled in revolt of that statement and his heart pounded in concurrence, affirming his worst of fears.

_I don’t… I don’t care._

  



	27. Chapter 27

They’d been married for ten months now and their marriage was barely hanging on. Sherlock was ever repressed and John gave up trying. As if things weren’t bad enough, Mycroft, of all people, was worried about them. He convinced John it wasn’t appropriate to stay nights at Lestrade’s and John had to agree with him. His omega never liked it, but it was hard to be in the same living quarters with Sherlock. Still, John minimized his stays with Lestrade, and only went when the tension between Sherlock and himself proved unbearable. Mycroft met up with John almost weekly attempting to convince him that talking with Sherlock was the best thing for them. Even if Sherlock couldn’t remember what they shared, if John would just tell him, maybe they could work their way back to what they’d once shared. John refused Mycroft, not because he didn’t want to have that closeness with Sherlock back, but because he was frightened Sherlock had not a heart left to give him. 

John had just finished seeing his first patient at the clinic when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Quickly retrieving it, John glanced at the caller ID and found Lestrade’s name and a notification of a new text from the DI.

_Sherlock hurt his arm, but refused to have the EMT’s check him out. He’s headed home. Thought you should know._

John immediately found Sarah in her office, told her he had to leave for an emergency before rushing out of the building and heading to Baker Street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sherlock!” John called out the moment he entered their flat; finding the living area and kitchen empty, he went to the alpha’s bedroom.

The bedroom was pristine as ever and completely empty. As John turned to leave the room he heard the muffled shuffling at his side and then noticed a shadowed figure through the distorted glass door of the bedroom bathroom. 

“Sherlock.” John’s stomach lurched with nerves.

Opening the glass door, John met the sight of Sherlock standing in front of the sink. The shirt of his left arm sleeve was folded back, just above the elbow, allowing the flow of blood to slip out and trickle into the sink while Sherlock attempted to wet a cotton ball in alcohol.

“It’s just a scratch.” Sherlock grumbled, not bothering to turn and address John’s presence. His only focus was on tending to his wound.

“If it’s only a scratch, let me have a look.” John bit back a curse and exhaled his frustrations, knowing arguing would get him nowhere. 

Sherlock mumbled out indistinct words of aggravation when one hand loosened its grip on the bottle of the alcohol and sent some of its contents spilling into the sink.

“Sherlock.” John voiced with exasperation. 

Ignoring Sherlock’s obstinacy, John stepped to Sherlock’s side and took hold of the bottle of alcohol and cotton ball.

“Sit.” John ordered.

Sherlock gave John a defiant stare.

“Sherlock… Please.” John gently pleaded, not wishing to physically force Sherlock down; worried he might end up hurting Sherlock even more so in the process.

Sherlock remained unmoving as he searched John’s face before he released a huff of breath and moved to seat himself on the closed toilet. 

John threw the cotton ball away, set the bottle on the sink counter, washed his hands and retrieved a new cotton ball from the first aid kit on the counter. John wet the cotton ball and moved between Sherlock long legs, and raised his free hand out to his husband, a voiceless request Sherlock give him his arm. 

Sherlock pressed his left hand against John’s and watched as John grip tightened and he pulled enough so that Sherlock’s arm straightened out and was open to his view. 

John took a look at the wound and felt the weight of worry lighten when he realized it wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. The cut was a flesh wound, a straight-through cut that could only have come from a sharp blade, but luckily it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. Still, the cut was long, vertical to Sherlock’s wrist. It spanned from the edge of Sherlock’s elbow, curved inward and made a path along his arm and inches from his inner wrist. 

John hesitantly dabbed at the bleeding wound and glanced up into Sherlock’s eyes. The alpha’s face was tense, but gave no more indication of feeling any pain as he cleaned the wound. John broke his gaze from the alpha to further focus on his task at hand. 

“What happened?” 

“The same old…”

When John paused in his actions and raised a questioning brow, Sherlock exhaled heavily and explained himself further. 

“A suspect wasn’t happy to be found out, tried to kill me. Really, the same old, then I incapacitated him and called Scotland Yard.” Sherlock drawled dryly, glaring at John’s hands that lay care to his arm.

John shut his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. Withholding his words, knowing any form of admonishing would only result in Sherlock’s refusal of John’s assistance. After he finished disinfecting the wound, John retrieved an antibiotic cream and carefully massaged it over the cut, and after which point he then proceeded to wrap Sherlock’s forearm in gauze.

“ _Lestrade_ must have told you.” 

The way Sherlock spat out the DI’s name irked John.

“Yes.” John forced, stare hardening, challengingly. “What’s wrong with that? If it wasn’t for Lestrade you would have most likely not said anything.”

“Not like you’re around for me to say anything to.”

“What?”

“Forget it. _Thank you, John._ Next time I’ll make an appointment at the clinic to save you the time coming home and handling me.” 

John felt his heart pulse painfully at Sherlock’s unexpected hostility. Stepping back to give himself a decent amount of space when the alpha unexpectedly stood. Breaking eye contact, Sherlock left the bathroom to enter his room.

John followed after the alpha, quietly watching as Sherlock began unbuttoning his ruined shirt.

“I don’t _handle_ you. I take care of you, because you’re my husband.”

_And no matter how hard I’ve tried, I love you still._

Sherlock let out a bitter laugh and flung his shirt in the direction of the open closet, and rounded to face John with blazing eyes.

“Take care of me, do you? You still consider me your husband?” Sherlock sneered.

“Are you angry with me?” John’s features tensed in a pensive scowl.

“No!” Sherlock denied, lips thinned in a grimace at his own outburst. “I don’t care enough to be angry.”

“Then why are you yelling at me?” John demanded, his temper on a short leash, trying to understand Sherlock’s motives. 

“I don’t know!” Shutting his eyes, Sherlock noticeably took in deep, slow breaths, trying to calm himself.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock dejectedly announced, just above a whisper, his stiff form rapidly sagging. Slowly he made his way over to the bed and seated himself on the edge.

John didn’t budge, though a part of him wanted nothing more than to seat himself beside his mate and take hold of his hand.

“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock rasped after a long time of silence. Raising a hand to run through dark curls, Sherlock’s ever-poised posture, indelicately slouched. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This isn’t me. _This isn’t me, John_.” Sherlock sounded so frail, broken; John’s insides twisted excruciatingly. He wanted to help, he wanted to somehow gain the ability in which would allow him to remove the cause of such turmoil within his husband.

Whatever held John back vanished and not a second more passed before John was kneeling beside the bowed alpha. Raising his hand to palm over Sherlock’s, fingers brushing the silky smoothness of hair and a heated hand, John pulled the alpha’s hand away. Using his other hand to raise Sherlock’s head with a gentle press up on a trembling chin, John met soft blue.

“What’s bothering you?”

Sherlock said nothing, staring with fascination and with intrigue at the omega; he couldn’t muster up the words filling his mind.

_Why does your touch affect me so deeply? Why can’t I stop thinking about you?_

“You.” Sherlock hoarsely sighed and John pulled away with astonishment. 

“ _Me?_ ” It hurt just a little to know he was the cause of Sherlock’s turmoil.

“I… I don’t feel like myself, because all I can think about is you.” Sherlock admitted warily, at a complete loss.

John sat heavily onto the floor and remained in a daze. 

_Could Sherlock mean… Could he even hope? But Sherlock said it himself._

“You don’t feel like yourself because of me?” John repeated slowly, the spark of hope grew when Sherlock gave a stiff nod of concurrence. 

“You…” John pressed a hand over his mouth, holding whatever words might have been released, because a sudden clenching of his heart had him nearing tears. Their marriage was in ruins. They were arguing. Sherlock was angry with him. Still, none of it could stop the joy steadily building at the realization that was making itself known.

“Do you miss me?” John asked what might seem like an illogical question for most, but not to him and hopefully not to Sherlock, because there was a separation between them. Though they lived together, though they were married, though there was no surmountable or physical distance, there was a distance of emotion, of a mental capacity. 

Sherlock stared on, remaining still, though John saw when Sherlock’s lips thinned in an expression of irritation and his eyes hardened. The alpha was turning to stone, building up walls, shielding himself from the sentiment loaded in that one question and its answer — if he chose to give it. 

Sherlock didn’t have to answer John. Not now. Sherlock had said more than enough. It was enough to break through the fog of self loathing and grief within John, enough to douse him with revelation. 

_Sherlock has been here. Sherlock hasn’t left me. He’s just as frightened as I am._

“I missed you.” John rasped, vision blurring the longer he thought about how he’d been wrong to pull away. 

Raising a hand to palm Sherlock’s knee, John shuffled to kneel directly in front of the alpha and nudged the still alpha’s knee, coaxing him into awareness. 

“I…” Sherlock couldn’t say it, but John knew. 

“I’m sorry too.” John planted his other hand on the alpha’s cheek and leaned forward to press his forehead against Sherlock’s own. 

Shutting his eyes, John enjoyed the closeness that he’d deprived himself of for so long. Sherlock never rejected the scenting he’d enacted, never left their bed, never sought out Irene’s attentions, he’d remained faithful to him. John had foolishly allowed his fears and Sherlock’s reclusions to determine his actions, when he should have been taking in the subtlety of Sherlock’s feelings. 

Sherlock accepted John’s scenting. Sherlock shared his room with him. Sherlock never flirted back with Irene. Sherlock stayed, even if Irene was alive, Sherlock chose John. Sherlock never rejected John’s help on cases when John had gone. These meant things, though not as grand as a sentimental confession, Sherlock was demonstrating he cared. 

“You care, don’t you?” John whimpered, nuzzling the alpha’s nose with his own.

Sherlock tensed in his arms, but he didn’t pull back — another sign. 

“Oh, Sherlock. I’ve been so stupid. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. I know. I know now.” 

Sherlock remained voiceless, motionless, but the soft stuttering breath that blew from parted lips was more than enough for John.

“I missed you so much.” John husked, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Hands moving to press against the alpha’s knees, John parted them, giving himself enough space to wedge his body between them and didn’t hesitate wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck and bringing him in a firm embrace.

Again Sherlock tensed in his hold, but John knew — he finally knew Sherlock cared. It wasn’t love, but care meant something. Care meant Sherlock was changing — changing back to the person he had once been. Care was enough for now. Care would turn to affection, affection to consideration, consideration to need, need to love, or so that was how John had slowly fallen for Sherlock. If John could love Sherlock after everything that had happened to him, Sherlock could most certainly fall back in love with him. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock said, voice tense, on the verge of sentiment. 

John’s eyes dampened as he turned his head and buried his face against Sherlock’s neck, scenting the alpha further, and inhaling the calming scent of his mate.

“My Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened with disbelief at the sentiment in which John expressed.

_My Sherlock? I’m yours? I… That... It doesn’t sound unpleasant to be yours. If I’m yours, does that mean you’re mine? Does that mean you won’t allow Lestrade to scent you? I don’t like it. His scent on you was wrong. My scent… My scent is better._

Sherlock raised a hand and awkwardly patted the omega’s back, stiffening when the omega keened happily, nuzzling against his scent gland in earnest. 

_My touch… feels that good?_

Sherlock felt heat blossom upon his face and shut his eyes, mortified that he enjoyed that idea more than he thought he would. His hand growing bolder as it ran up and down the expanse of the omega’s back, stroking kindly over his jumper, heating his hand pleasantly the longer he continued. 

John’s fingers slid through the softness of Sherlock’s curls, tugging and twirling it within his fingers playfully. A heavy sigh slipped past Sherlock’s lips, followed by a pleasant noise, the alpha enjoying the affections of the omega, scenting him after such a long absence. 

John wasn’t sure how long it was that they held to each other, but he didn’t care. Hours might have passed by and it all couldn’t matter a bit, because he was lost to the sensations — the warmth of two bodies pressed intimately together. The scent of both himself and Sherlock mingling in the air, saturating the room in the sweetness of an omega and the bitter sweetness of his mated alpha.

_I love you… I love you still. I can’t break this feeling, never could._

John’s fingers twined deeply in jet black curls, losing themselves in it, tangling and knotting in place of cradling the magnificent genius’s head.

“You might not realize it, Sherlock, but I like you. I’ve always liked you. It’s just that… Irene—”

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock shuddered, a hand pressed between his shoulder blades and bringing him closer. “I don’t… I never… John, believe me.”

John’s eyes clenched shut, holding back the emotions threatening to be released.

_I believe you._

“I didn’t understand myself. I still don’t. I… I shouldn’t have allowed her to continue in the way she did, but I didn’t… don’t like how you affect me. I don’t like it, but I don’t want you pulling away again.”

John hated the clinical side of Sherlock. The side that repelled the notion of sentiment, and therefore, cruelly accepting the attentions of another to push away the feelings dwelling within for one who affected them so. He hated it, but he could understand it. Understand it in the strangeness that Sherlock’s mind churned. 

“Okay.” John mumbled, pressing his lips against the exposed scent gland before him and inhaled deeply of his bond mate.

John would have contented himself in remaining wrapped around Sherlock for hours more, but Sherlock had other thoughts and resolutely pushed John back, far enough to meet the omega’s gaze, guarded. 

John refused to release Sherlock’s hair from his grasp and fondly stroked the alpha’s scalp, feather-light hair tickling his fingers each stroke he made. His other hand trailed at the nape of his neck, fiddling with the short hair that was there as he stared up into beautiful blue depths with such care.

“Lestrade… He scents you on the nights you…” Sherlock couldn’t finish his sentence, the ends of his mouth twitching as if wishing to say more, but being unable to voice what could only be too much of an over-sentimental question.

John flushed hotly; guilt, regret, and embarrassment flooding through and he regretted his actions.

“I just needed space, because I thought… because of Irene.”

“I don’t, John.”

“I know. I know that now. I just… I spent the night at Lestrade’s to get away, but we never… I could never, Sherlock. I slept in his bed while he took the couch, that’s why I smelled of him.”

Sherlock was voiceless, blankly staring at John as he processed this newfound information.

“I knew you would never physically, but emotionally…” Sherlock’s words faded away as his thoughts trailed away to more unsettling thoughts.

“No, Sherlock. Emotionally and physically I belong to you.” John soothed, palming the back of Sherlock’s neck and bringing him down to press their foreheads together once more and dotingly stroked at Sherlock’s scalp and neck.

“You should know that I’m not the type of alpha to… I’m not that kind of alpha.” Sherlock voiced. 

John couldn’t stop the laughter from breaking forth at Sherlock’s words. Sherlock had said something similar soon after they’d married.

_You’re still you._

“John?” Sherlock asked, unsettled by John’s incongruity. 

John pulled back enough to smile kindly up at Sherlock. Those beautiful blue eyes stared at him with such wonder. Sherlock’s skin was pale, alluring skin carrying a soft blue hue in the light of the morning, and it was absolutely inviting. Lips with a hint of pink, parted in voiceless question and John wanted to feel the familiarity of their smoothness and the gentle laving of a tongue within. 

_I want to kiss you, but it’s too soon for that. I can wait. You waited years for me, I can wait a bit longer._

Untangling his hand from out of Sherlock’s hair, John rose to his feet and smiled down at the seated alpha before him.

_Still, just a little more affection my love._ John thought to himself, pressing a hand under Sherlock’s chin, lifting up until Sherlock looked at him and he bent low to press his lips at the widowspeak of his husband’s hairline. 

“Change up, Sherlock. I’ll make tea. Then you will tell me who exactly did this to you and how, hopefully, you left him in worse shape.” John resolved, taking several steps back and amusedly watching Sherlock’s mind work, taking in all the new information provided to him and accepting the change that was their ever evolving relationship. 

_This is enough. Sherlock, I’m sorry I hurt you. It was only because I was hurting and though it doesn’t justify what I did, I promise you I’m not going to run anymore. I’m not going to hurt you again. I know I've made similar promises, but I know what it is like living a lonely life without your care and I don't want that again. I will tell you how I feel, just give me a little bit longer. Let me work on it before I tell you._

_Things are changing for the better. We might have married under the wrong conditions, mated under strenuous circumstances, lost our faith in each other from the stress of this union and because of… him, but we are growing, and I’m becoming stronger. _

_I can wait, because now that I know that you feel something for me, it’s enough. Through patience, care, and understanding comes the love, and you will love me again. I know it, because if I could learn to love an alpha, you can learn to love me without past memories. And even though I might feel like I don’t deserve you, I know you deserve happiness. You deserve to know how I truly feel, and even if you deleted your love, I want it to be validated at last. I will validate your forgotten love. I will confess and love you for the both of us. I promise, Sherlock._

  



	28. Chapter 28

John knew that though their marriage wasn’t what he’d once wanted, things changed. If John never married Sherlock he would have never allowed himself to get to know the alpha and therefore, he would have never loved Sherlock. John loved Sherlock more than he ever thought he could love another person. Sherlock was it for him. He knew there would be no one else for him. He was true to his status, an omega by birth and instincts. Mated and bound to one for all his life. 

John refused to allow Sherlock to go on cases alone anymore. Not after Sherlock was hurt when he’d been working a case alone. That flesh wound could have been so much worse, and that very thought terrified him. No, from now on, John would always work beside Sherlock and keep him safe from harm. He’d give up his life willingly to save Sherlock. No harm would ever come to his mate.

Sherlock didn’t mind John’s sudden reappearance in relation to his cases. He welcomed his help and seemed more at ease with John’s visible commitment. John didn’t go out much anymore, and if he did, he made it a point to include Sherlock. 

John indulged in affectionate touches, nothing too extreme, not wishing to push Sherlock away, but enough so that Sherlock never questioned John’s sincerity. Things such as sitting close beside Sherlock, laying his hand over Sherlock’s, leaning over Sherlock’s chair as the alpha focused on his experiments and pressing a kiss to his brow, standing in Sherlock’s personal space when the alpha surveyed a crime scene, brushing his hand over Sherlock’s arm when the alpha retreated within his mind palace to organize his thoughts and seek out important information. 

Sherlock never pulled away from John’s touches, but he did tense when in public and appeared uneasy when officers around them took notice. John wished Sherlock wasn’t so reserved or cautious about his touches when in public, but Sherlock wasn’t exactly the same as he’d once been.

When John took hold of Sherlock’s hand at a crime scene full of officers, Sherlock tensed but he didn’t remove his hand out of John’s. He merely glanced around them, features tense, lips pursed in a frown as several officers eyed them. John released Sherlock of his hold, not wishing to make Sherlock uncomfortable and the alpha walked further into the room to inspect the victim’s body. 

Later, as they drove back from the crime scene in a cab, heading back home, Sherlock glanced out of his side of the window as he spoke.

“I don’t mind your touches, John.” Sherlock’s voice was gentle.

“But...” John knew there was a ‘but’ coming. 

“Not in public.” Sherlock murmured softly. “Most think our union is an arrangement, but when you touch me as you do, it exposes too much.”

John’s brows furrowed, trying to understand what Sherlock was telling him, but he just couldn’t follow the alpha’s train of thought.

“It exposes weakness.” Sherlock shakily admitted, and met John’s gaze, pale gray eyes open, vulnerable. 

John understood it then. Many alphas and omegas were forced into their unions and most of those alphas didn’t love those omegas enough to be committed to them. They took care of their omegas, gave them all they desired, but their hearts were of their own possession, never shared. Sherlock wanted others to think much of the same about them, because if it were thought they truly cared for each other, it left them in danger of being harmed. 

John suddenly thought of one person that would cause Sherlock’s hesitation.

“Moriarty?” John questioned, to clarify Sherlock’s hesitancy.

Sherlock’s grimaced, but gave a jerking nod.

John inhaled shakily and placed his hand over Sherlock’s own resting in the space between their bodies. 

“We’ll get him, Sherlock. We are not his victims.” John answered roughly, voice thick with emotion. They’d lost so much because of Moriarty, but John refused to be seen as a victim, or to fear the mad man’s presence. 

Sherlock shook his head in refusal, ready to protest, but John tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hand and spoke before Sherlock could.

“ _No_ , Sherlock, we are not his victims. _I’m_ not Moriarty’s victim. We will catch him. We will not fear his presence.” 

Sherlock’s lips thinned in refusal to conform, but his words of disagreement remained unvoiced because of the determination written across John’s face. 

Exhaling a trembling breath, Sherlock nodded his head, giving into John’s words then.

“Okay, John.” Sherlock conformed. 

John smiled weakly and boldly raised his other hand to palm Sherlock’s pale face, stroking a sharp cheekbone with his thumb.

“I care so very much about you Sherlock. So, very, _very_ much.” John’s words came out in a choked breathless confession that immediately softened the tension in Sherlock’s brow. 

“John.” Sherlock interrupted the loaded silence building between them the longer John stared longingly at him.

“Shut up.” John hushed, leaning forward and dipping his head at the crook of Sherlock’s neck and contentedly began nuzzling up close to his alpha’s scent gland, scenting his love with so much affection it bled out of his heart. 

The clearing of a throat had both Sherlock and John pulling away from one another to glance over to their cab driver, then out the windows. John chuckled, embarrassed, when he realized they’d been parked in front of their flat for some time now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sentiment was a weakness.

Mycroft learned this hard lesson the day he’d lost her, Gigi Haddisu. She’d just turned eighteen. She had been beautiful, with dark mocha colored skin, dark brown eyes, and beautiful long black hair. Her parents had moved from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to London when she was five, soon after the arrangement was made between their two families. She was a gentle soul, untarnished by the evils of the world. Kind and loving, so much like an angel. 

She spent her days volunteering at an animal shelter, working at a retirement home, and spending her evenings with her sisters out around town. On the weekends, when other students her age spent it lounging about the house or spending it with friends doing unprogressive activities, she went over to her next door neighbors’ home. They were an elderly couple in their eighties and she’d take them out to run their errands, prepare their meals, and clean up their place. She did these things out of the goodness of her heart. She was the type of person always willing to help others. 

Mycroft had been pleasantly amused when an agent sent him a file that detailed how Gigi stopped her car in the middle of traffic to help a hurt dog laying in the road who’d been hit by another car. She’d immediately taken the dog to a local animal hospital. Though the dog wasn’t hers, she’d taken responsibility for it, paying for its surgery and adopting it. 

Gigi was an angel and Mycroft found himself falling in love with her, though he’d never met her. Then a drunk driver stole her and Mycroft was left with nothing. The kindness of Gigi, Mycroft would never be able to experience for himself, and he grew bitter. 

Mycroft decided love wasn’t for him and buried himself in his work. He worked his way to the very top, and still, he wanted more. He had more goals to reach and he was content to continue this path. 

Then he met Gregory Lestrade. 

The DI was a confident and compassionate man. He was a man who went out of his way to help others and could see the good in people. He sought justice. In many ways, Lestrade reminded Mycroft of Gigi. There were differences, of course there would be, where there had been gentleness in Gigi there was strength in Lestrade. This strength unsettled Mycroft. 

Relationships, Mycroft didn’t do them. They were complicated, messy and required far too much vulnerability. When Gigi died, so did something within Mycroft, and he knew there was no way to bring it back to life. Even so, Gregory Lestrade troubled Mycroft. Gregory made Mycroft feel deeply, a deep fear, but sentiment none the less. This worried the gentleman. 

Mycroft didn’t date, this was true. He’d never been with anyone and he didn’t wish to be. There were times the loneliness kept him up at night and his grief would eat at him. His alpha within whining and grieving over his lost omega, but Mycroft never expressed those feelings outside of the privacy of his home. 

_Gregory Lestrade was an alpha and he was married to a beta._

This was something Mycroft continuously told himself when meeting up with the DI in regards to Sherlock’s health. He couldn’t understand why he felt the need to remind himself of these things, but he had, and he assuredly did, each and every time. Then Sherlock recovered and found an anchor in his love for John that kept him from straying to the use of drugs. Mycroft’s visits with Gregory lessened until they’d completely stopped. But even after he stopped meeting with Gregory, he found himself thinking about the DI from time to time. 

Now, after meeting with Gregory once more, he found himself completely at a loss for how to feel. Gregory had unashamedly flirted with him and expressed an interest. It was all so strange and disconcerting. 

Mycroft wasn’t sure how to feel in regards to Gregory’s interest. He truly didn’t. Accepting that sentiment was a weakness was the best way Mycroft could cope with Gigi’s death and had helped him endure the many years without her. 

Alphas didn’t mate with each other. It wasn’t that they couldn’t, but that their status would cause for conflict in shaping the dynamics of a relationship. Alphas were dominate in nature and liked controlling the relationship. With two headstrong leaders trying to control the relationship, conflict would arise, and the relationship was bound to fail. Unless one alpha was willing to concede power, giving up complete control to the other alpha. Giving up control, trusting another was something most alphas failed in doing.

Some talked about there being a fourth status, sub-status really, an alpha submissive. Alpha submissives don’t exist. Alphas, although being born leaders and having the strong urge to dominate, could submit under the right conditions, if the love was strong enough, pure enough. Mycroft had seen it in Sherlock. Sherlock’s love for John was sincere, so pure, and true. Even though Sherlock was the alpha and John was just an omega, Sherlock would willingly concede to John’s will, because John’s happiness meant more to him than status. 

Mycroft knew that if he truly wished to accept Gregory’s affections there was nothing truly stopping him from doing so. Only, Mycroft couldn’t. Gigi was too important and he knew he couldn’t replace the place in his heart where Gigi resided with someone else. 

Even so, Mycroft found himself giving orders for his men to break into the DI’s home when the officer was away and place hidden cameras in the man’s home. Every evening, within the privacy of his townhouse, Mycroft sat at his desk silently keeping watch of the lonely alpha in his home.

Most nights Gregory would prepare a home cooked meal, meant to feed two and eat alone within the silence of his dining room. He’d then work on some open case files within his office, or fall asleep on the living room sofa while watching the late night news. 

Today was no different. Mycroft reclined back in his leather chair at his desk, palming his shut mouth with his hand as he watched Gregory reading an open file placed in front of his own desk. The DI’s eyes were heavy with sleep, but he stubbornly blinked them with purpose, attempting to remain awake. Gregory spent another forty minutes reviewing the case file, jotting down notes and researching things in relation to it on his laptop before finally calling it a night and putting everything away.

As Gregory slipped into his bed sheets in the dimly lit bedroom, Mycroft watched the shadowed lump on the bed for several long moments more. 

_Good night, Gregory._

Mycroft shut off his computer, downed the rest of his scotch, and rose from his chair. Intent with seeking his own rest in his cool bed sheets within the bleakness of his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_John wanted to hold Sherlock…_

_John wanted to scent Sherlock..._

_John wanted Sherlock to want him…_

John wanted a great many things, but he couldn’t seem to ask for what it was he desired. John wanted so much to share a bed with his husband, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. He’d done so many things wrong that it felt wrong of him to ask now. What if he was being pushy and asking for more than Sherlock felt comfortable giving? 

John needed to hold back and wait, see what Sherlock wanted. 

Still… as John readied himself for the day, he hesitated on whether or not to take his daily suppressants. Staring contemplatively at the white and red plastic bottle in his hand. **Suppressant OA-3**. 

John wanted to give Sherlock his space, allow him to grow accustomed to the idea of them being more than what they had been for the last several months. He wanted to give Sherlock the chance to accept him as his mate in every sense, but he also didn’t want to hide from himself anymore. John didn’t want to give to his fears and let that determine everything. John wanted to show Sherlock he trusted him and he trusted himself. He didn’t want to live in fear of Moriarty or anything else.

If John stopped taking suppressants, then three months from now he would start his heat cycle—and true, if Sherlock bonded with him, John would have to accept his infertility. But even if that were to happen, it wouldn’t change anything—most certainly not the way John felt for Sherlock. 

Wasn’t that what truly mattered? 

Raising his head and staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, John sucked in his bottom lip and nibbled at it nervously. 

_No more running. No more hiding. No more pulling away._ John told himself resolutely, and pulled open the medicine cabinet, placing the unused suppressants back on the shelf, he shut it with a dulled click. 

John smiled shyly at his reflection, feeling beyond the nervousness a lightness of the trust he was putting in his alpha though Sherlock knew not. 

_I trust you, Sherlock. I’ll prove myself worthy of you._ John turned away from the mirror and exited his bathroom and made his way to the kitchen.

Sherlock wasn’t anywhere in sight and John knew it was still early for the alpha to be up after he’d spent the last four days working on a case he’d just finished. As John moved about the kitchen quietly preparing breakfast, John smiled to himself again.

_I’m not letting my fears rule me again. Love is trust and you’ll see just how strong my trust in you is._

After John prepared them cinnamon French toast, eggs and bacon, he set up their plates and began preparing their tea. Sherlock entered the kitchen several moments after, tussling his shaggy mess of curls, wrapped in his red robe and blearily met John’s deep blue.

“Morning.” John greeted kindly, making his way to where Sherlock seated himself and placed a warm cup of tea for him. 

“Mm.” Sherlock mumbled distractedly and crunched a bite of bacon. 

John stood at Sherlock’s side grinning happily at his drowsy husband. Sherlock was so beautiful, even with his crumpled pajamas peeking through his robe, and disheveled hair, the dark bags under his eyes revealing the sleep Sherlock’s body still craved all the more heartening a sight.

Sherlock’s sleepily glanced over to John when he continued to stand beside him. John smiled at the curious furrowing of dark brows and regardless of the question in Sherlock’s pale green eyes; he bent low and placed a soft kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. 

The bacon strip in Sherlock’s hand fell with a clatter against his plate and Sherlock’s features became all the more alert. 

“John.” Sherlock whispered unsure of himself. 

“Eat, Sherlock. Then you can go back to bed.” John palmed Sherlock’s warm cheek, stroking it fondly with his thumb. 

John pulled away then and moved to seat himself across from Sherlock and started eating his own meal. Sherlock didn’t eat for a while after; his attention was completely focused on John, considering his behavior. 

“You’re perplexing John. Has anyone ever told you that?” Sherlock mused, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

John continued chewing his eggs, shrugging his shoulders before grinning back at Sherlock. 

_You’re lovable Sherlock. I wish I could tell you that._

John ducked his head shyly as Sherlock’s gaze intensified and John felt self-conscious as if the alpha could read his mind. 

“Thank you for all this.” Sherlock made a gesture to the meal John had prepared them.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m your husband.” John reassured, though it felt nice to be appreciated, Sherlock had thanked him once before. It was nice to hear again, it reminded John that the Sherlock he knew was still present, minus a few memories. 

“Thank you anyways.”

“Mm.” John’s eyes were warm pools of affection that sent heat rising to Sherlock’s pale features.

  



	29. Chapter 29

Gregory Lestrade lived a sad, lonely life. Even after he got married, he still felt alone. Jean was a wonderful woman, but not without her faults. If he was being truly honest with himself, Gregory had proposed to Jean out of a sense of obligation. 

Before Jean, he’d only been in three other relationships, and those weren’t anything that lasted more than six months. The first was in high school, Brittany Walsh. She was too gentle for Gregory’s taste and after two months of dating, he’d ended things. Then there was Amy Jones. He met her in his freshman year of college, she was beautiful and popular. His friends pushed him into going out with her as she’d shown an interest in him. She was an intelligent woman and Gregory found that he enjoyed their talks. Her views on life and current world issues were fascinating and they could talk for hours. He’d lost his virginity to her and he was happy for a time, but slowly realized he saw her as a close friend rather than a future mate. They broke up after six months. Maria Hernandez was technically his rebound, but out of guilt and shame for using her to get over the funk of breaking up with Amy, Gregory dated her for three months.

Gregory met Jean Becker several months after graduating from college and he liked how mature Jean was. He liked how reserved and sensible of a person she could be. They dated past his six month mark, and Gregory couldn’t find a real reason why they shouldn’t be together. They never did have the passion or spark other couples did, but it was comfortable, safe, being together. After a year together, Gregory couldn’t see why he shouldn’t propose. They worked as a unit and the sex was decent enough. What else could they ask for? 

Now, Gregory could see that marrying Jean wasn’t the right choice. Though they never argued, their marriage had no spice, it was plain and dull, but it worked for them. Gregory was busy with working his way up at the department. He had his goal of someday becoming a detective to preoccupy his time. Jean was busy working her way up in her law firm, taking on more cases and hours to make partner. Their marriage lay in the background of their life goals and that should never be the case with relationships. 

Gregory could only thank his alpha within for never desiring to bond, that would have made their divorce nearly unbearable. The sad truth however was that his alpha didn’t recognize Jean as his mate, never had. And then he had to go and meet Mycroft Holmes and his inner alpha keened with disgraceful need. 

Every time Mycroft came to visit him in regards to Sherlock, Gregory’s alpha would whine pitifully, desperate for attention, for the loving affection of Mycroft. That wasn’t going to happen though. Gregory couldn’t allow it. He’d made vows to honor his wife. He wouldn’t betray Jean, no matter what his inner alpha needed. It still couldn’t tamper the need for the other alpha though.

Gregory had always known he wasn’t completely straight. Although he’d never acted on his desires, he would notice a handsome man, and he’d wonder what it would feel like to embrace them. His cock would jolt with the sudden thought of touching and being touched by a man, and whenever he thought of that man being Mycroft… _God_ , even his alpha within would roll over and expose it’s underside in want of it. 

Jean started coming home later than normal and working every weekend. When this happened, Gregory knew it wasn’t work that was taking Jean’s time. Especially after one night Jean came home smelling heavily of another alpha. She wasn’t even trying to hide it in the end. They’d finally decided this marriage wasn’t working for them and filed for divorce. 

Gregory wasn’t even mad at Jean for being unfaithful, because although he’d never physically been unfaithful, he’d accepted that a certain government official had long since stolen his heart. _That_ , Gregory concluded, was the biggest betrayal. 

Mycroft didn’t want him though, not even after learning Gregory was divorced and _so very_ smitten with him.

It might have been the loneliness eating away at him, but Gregory wanted to feel loved, or at least desired by someone if not the alpha that he already considered his. 

Gregory watched as a drunk John stumbled away after wishing him a good night and made his way out of the pub. Gregory remained as he’d taken notice of a young woman - slim of frame and blond - across the room who had been eyeing him for some time now. Smiling up at the pale features of the young woman, Gregory rose from his chair and walked over to her.

Placing his hand across the counter of the bar as a subtle way of balancing himself, the alcohol vibrating through him, Gregory decided, ‘why not?’ Why couldn’t he have a one night stand? Was it so horrible? Mycroft would never want him, so what was he supposed to do? Wait around for his whole bloody life for something that might never happen? 

“Hi.” the young woman said; her voice was soft, gentle as she stared shyly up at him.

“Hello, I’m Gregory.”

“Heather.” she smiled kindly and offered her hand for Gregory to take.

Gregory stared at it for a moment, contemplating briefly if he could do this, before taking hold of the woman’s hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

This didn’t feel right - Heather’s hand dragging down the length of his back as he unlocked the front door of his home - but he shook off the unsettling in his gut as simple nerves. Gregory opened the door of his flat and entered.

Heather followed closely behind him and the moment the door shut she was in his arms, her lips crashing against Gregory’s. She no longer carried the same shyness as before and kissed him with educated experience. 

Gregory stumbled back, being led by Heather’s insistent pushing, until he fell back onto his couch with Heather on top of him. The woman’s hands glided over his shirt, additional warmth as she controlled their kiss. 

The knotting in Gregory’s stomach felt worse now. This really didn’t feel right. Heather was good looking, nice, and he wanted her, but he couldn’t settle the alpha within. His inner alpha’s hair stood on end, taking on a threatening stance. The alpha didn’t like her. It felt wrong to be with her. 

Gregory clamped his eyes shut tight, his mouth going lax. As Heather attempted to keep their kiss going, her hands pulled up Gregory’s dress shirt, un-tucking it from his jeans, and slid a hand through to palm his belly and work her way up.

_This is wrong!_

Gregory groaned in distress, body tensing when Heather broke their now one sided kiss and moved lower to suck on his neck, working her way near his scent gland.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft’s day couldn’t have gone any worse. His men were working on finding Moriarty and they’d just received a lead, but now their informant had gone missing. Staying late, Mycroft worked with the analysts, attempting to track their informant. He was sure that if the informant was still alive, they’d find him eventually. Mycroft trusted his skilled analysts.

Pouring a glass of scotch, Mycroft walked over to his desk and took a seat. Exhaling a heavy sigh, he logged onto his computer and found the CCTV live footage of Gregory’s flat. 

Mycroft hadn’t expected to find much out of the ordinary, Gregory’s life was rather predictable and he liked that - the assurance that no matter how chaotic life became at work, Gregory remained the same. 

Logging in and finding footage of Gregory kissing a woman and being shoved down onto the couch was not one of them. The glass of scotch in his hand shook as he watched the scene before him. 

The stranger lying on top of Gregory was young, beautiful, and enthused. Setting his glass on the desk with more force than necessary, the scotch sloshed and dampened his hand. Mycroft didn’t pay it notice; his focus was on the screen. There was no sound, but a picture spoke a thousand words, so a video was double proof, proof that he’d been wrong about Gregory. Mycroft grimaced as the woman’s hands stroked Gregory’s body and boldly worked their way under his shirt. 

The soreness that struck his heart wasn’t what he’d expected, but at its sudden occurrence also came a paining realization. 

Mycroft cared… And he was suddenly reminded of something Sherlock once said to Irene Adler in relation to her love for him. 

_I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage._

Mycroft winced at the comprehension that this care he held was strong, and even as he’d denied it to himself, this pain compared closely to the pain he’d felt at the loss of Gigi. 

_Sentiment… for another alpha was my mistake_. Mycroft angrily thought as he canceled out of the video feed, no longer able to bear witness to the painful sight. 

Mycroft felt slighted and he knew how irrational it was to feel such. Gregory wasn’t his mate. What gave him the right to feel such? Gregory said he was fond of him, he insinuated of wanting something with him, but the DI’s actions were the complete opposite. 

Most alphas were barbaric, letting their cocks rule them. Letting their need to procreate dominate all else, and therefore becoming lust driven alphas seeking out large harems; a polygamist lifestyle. 

Mycroft wouldn’t demean himself or his partner - if he had one - in such a way. There were still some monogamist alphas out there, but not as many as there ought to be. Mycroft’s sense of morality led him to believe that if someone expressed interest in another, they should have the decency to prove their admissions as truth. 

Gregory’s words meant nothing. He was not a man of his word as Mycroft had believed him to be and now, growing more so than the pain was anger. For one moment in time he’d thought… possibly… that if Sherlock could concede control to another, love between two alphas might work. If Mycroft could work through his grief and guilt, maybe there lay a future for him with Gregory. 

Now, however, Mycroft had been proven wrong. This was a lesson he needed to learn. Mycroft grabbed his glass and drank its contents. Exhaling a hiss of breath, the sting of hard liquor working down his throat, Mycroft retrieved his phone and dialed a number. They answered on the second ring.

“Sir?” came the man’s address.

“The next time Gregory Lestrade leaves his flat, terminate the surveillance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mycroft ended the call and took his empty glass to his in-home bar and poured himself a double of scotch this time. His day just kept getting worse.

As he moved through his home, Mycroft was reminded of one particular conversation he’d had with Sherlock not so long ago, before he’d been blindsided with the hope that was Gregory.

_“Look at them… They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there is something wrong with us?”_

_“All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”_

A deep, sardonic laugh dispelled as he slowly made his way to his room and he thought further of how thoughtless he’d been. 

_Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side_. It was a phrase both he and Sherlock had lived under. A phrase that Mycroft told himself many times in a day after the loss of Gigi. He should have reminded himself of this phrase when he’d felt a sort of hope in relation to Gregory. But if there was one thing Mycroft knew for certain, he never made the same mistake twice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John was horny.

John was horny and drunk. 

Tossing the cab driver bills with one hand, John used the other to fiddle with the latch of the handle, and on the fifth try was successful in opening it. Swaying out of the humming cab, John stumbled up the steps of the apartment building and staggered on his way to 221B. 

It was quite difficult steadying his hands enough so that he could unlock the front door of his flat, and a silent reminder of just how much he’d let himself go. Letting out a laugh of pride when the door swung open, John silently crept down the hall and to a shut door. 

John narrowed his eyes, endeavoring to see through the darkness of the room. Blinking within the dimness, the shadows began to take form, revealing themselves, and John was able to spot the lump of a body lying covered in sheets.

John’s painfully hard cock gave an aching jolt, the spout of his head dribbling droplets of pure sex, sticking to the cotton of his briefs and pressing insistently against constricting jeans. _God_ John could feel his cock beating the hurried rhythm of his heart against the zipper of his jeans, weeping from the lack of touch. Teenagers got more action in their short lives then John had allowed himself to feel and that was a terribly sad thought to have.

_God, I’m so fucking horny._ John squirmed where he stood, afforded some well needed friction the press of his jeans gave.

John bit back a whimper, palming the hardness of his cock as he hurriedly made his way to the bed. Toeing off his shoes, John knelt on the comforting mattress and crawled closer to the slim lump of a body. Hard-pressing himself against the heated lump, John couldn’t choke back a needing sob. The body shifted against him and a gravelly moan of confusion was his answer. 

“Sherlock.” John pled, jutting his neglected cock against the blanketed round ass before him, and ducked his head down to bite into the cotton of the sheets, muffling the desperate cry that filled the room.

_Oh fuck! Your ass is so firm._

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was sleep-laced goodness. That voice alone made his cock spew sizzling pre-come, dampening his briefs like a bitch in heat. 

“Please, Sherlock. God, please.” John was begging. Even knowing how wrong this was. How he shouldn’t be laying on so much for Sherlock. But he had three AMF’s coursing through his veins and his cock leading his actions. His sense of logic had gone out the window in the wake of his arousal. 

John moaned and bucked harder against the apple shaped ass of his husband, a sharp gasp broke through, burning his lungs at the deepness of the inhale. 

_FuckFuckFuck!_

John gripped to Sherlock’s shoulders as a full body convulsion rocked through him. He was going to come if he thrust hard like that again and then he’d be painfully embarrassed he couldn’t even last a full minute. 

Sherlock grumbled groggily, shifting further until the sheets dropped under the alpha’s shoulders and to his waist as he turned around to face John. Sherlock said nothing as he met John’s gaze through the dimness of the room. The only light afforded to them was that of the city, seeping through the bedroom window as the curtains were open. 

John’s breathing was heavy, his face felt flushed though the room was pleasantly cool, and his body tensed with the need for touch. 

“You’ve drunk more than usual tonight.” Sherlock observed. “Quite a lot if you’re in my room.”

God, John loved Sherlock’s deducing abilities, but right now he didn’t much want to listen to Sherlock tell him what he knew already and unabashedly curled himself against Sherlock’s prone form. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, John palmed the back of Sherlock’s head with one hand, curling his fingers in the feather-like curls of his alpha and gripping it tight, while pressing his lower half against Sherlock’s sheeted body.

“Please. Sherlock.”

“You’re aroused.”

“ _Yes_.” John hissed, unable to stop himself from humping up against Sherlock’s stomach, rubbing the damp part of his jeans over the hardness of Sherlock’s lean abs. His cock spilling more excessive pre-come. 

“You stopped taking suppressants? Why?” Sherlock hadn’t realized this important change in John’s life, though he’d been busy working a case and that could have been the reason for missing this important change.

“I wanted you. I still want you. Please Sherlock, _oh Jesus_. I need.”

“John…” Sherlock began, sounding unsure of himself, of John, of what they should do.

Married legally. Mentally separated. Love blind. 

“Please, give me pleasure. I’m horny for you.”

Sherlock would have laughed if not for the desperation in John’s voice and the gleam in his dark eyes. John needed him, but Sherlock was still unsure how to respond. He’d never had sex with anyone else but John, and the memories of the time spent together was a jumbled mess. For one reason or another he’d chosen to block out parts of their copulations. 

“What do you want?” Sherlock attempted to remain rational. 

John was Sherlock’s omega, his husband. It was one of the many duties he’d taken on at their union to take care of his husband. Taking care of John now, meant more physical requirements of him, but he was willing to provide for him. Making John happy made him happy and if John wanted him, then Sherlock would give him what he needed. 

“ _You. I want you._ ” John bit his bottom lip as his thrusting became obscene, far less soft rubbings and more powerful pounding against Sherlock’s stomach, his jeans dampening further.

Sherlock swallowed audibly as he rested a hand over John’s jerking hip and stilled his movements. 

“Okay. I’ll take care of you.”

John whimpered from the lack of friction, but willingly turned over onto his back when Sherlock gently pressed him against the mattress. Sherlock kicked off the sheets over himself and knelt at John’s side.

“Help me take off your clothes.”

“Yes.” John happily agreed, rising up into a sitting position, and the two of them set to work on undressing him.

Once the last piece of garment was removed, John lay back on the bed, exposed, and in full view of Sherlock. John smiled, the end of his mouth twitching with slight nerves. This felt slightly different, not in a bad way necessarily, more of a kind of newness. Sherlock wasn’t his usual self, he was slightly more reserved, and kept his thoughts within which made John nervous. He was unsure whether or not Sherlock would want him as much as he once had.

“You look…” Sherlock paused, scrounging his mind for the appropriate word.

“Beautiful?” John offered, just as Sherlock finished his sentence.

“Agreeable...”

A part of John was hurt by Sherlock depreciation, so clinical still even when they were going to do something so intimate, but another part of him, a stronger part of him, laughed. 

“Come here you bloody mad fool.” John chuckled and raised himself up to wrap his arms around Sherlock, holding him close in a warm embrace. John smiled into Sherlock’s neck.

“Please hurry, Sherlock. I’m drunk and horny. I couldn’t help but think about you on the cab ride back. About our first time together, about your arms around by body, the way you touched me, our first kiss— _Ooh, Sherlock_.”

“Okay.” Sherlock shakily replied, lowering his head to nuzzle John’s neck and pressed an experimental, open-mouthed kiss to the bond bite. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John sighed pleasantly, his hands stroking over Sherlock’s back. The fabric of his shirt added another layer of a caress to his skin, and Sherlock was surprised to feel a pulsing in his lower region. His body responded so readily to John’s touch.

_You make my body respond so strangely, John._ Sherlock thought to himself. His face felt hot, the heat growing ever so as his stomach roiled and his arousal awakened. John smelled so sweet – no longer was his scent absent from the suppressants. It was a scent he was familiar with, but in John’s current conditions, his scent mixing with the muskiness of arousal and the hints of pre-come - _oh!_ It had a powerful affect on him. 

“Your smell like… I can smell…. _Oh, John_.”

John released a pitiful throaty keen when Sherlock laid a hand over his belly and stroked the skin that was there. He shouldn’t have responded so eagerly towards a rather basic touch, but John held so many memories of Sherlock stroking at his stomach when scenting, tenderly caressing it while their pups had grown, and laying loving kisses there, that John felt so much at the touch.

“Please. Sherlock. _Sherlock!_ ”

_God. Oh God, I love you._ John’s thoughts stuttered as Sherlock lowered himself and lay insistent kisses past his clavicle, over the center of his ribcage and lower still.

_I love you._ Tears fogged John’s vision as Sherlock’s other hand joined the one caressing his belly. Then Sherlock’s lips were there too, and his hands slid to his sides as Sherlock kissed wetly along the welt of his surgical scar and John whimpered, pained and heartened by Sherlock’s kind—almost loving token. 

“John.” Sherlock rasped thickly, kissing the welt more firmly now, scenting the sadness his action had caused.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.” John breathed softly, shutting his stinging eyes and blindly wove his fingers through Sherlock’s fine curls.

“Touch me. Keep touching me. I need you.” 

Sherlock groaned, his cock hardening further, rising and pressing at the edge of his waistband with its own need. Sherlock swiped his tongue over the lengthy welt and John hummed contentedly. Kissing his way back up, Sherlock placed his attention on John’s nipples, one at a time, kissing, suckling, and nudging them with his tongue. Working them over until they were hard as rocks and John was ever vocal - his groans were torture to his neglected arousal, but Sherlock paced himself. John needed him and he’d give him all he had. 

John’s groans, shifted to soft breathy moans as Sherlock dragged his teeth delicately over his flesh and lower still to his stomach once more and placed caring kisses over the tender flesh that was there. 

Sliding his tongue out, Sherlock slid a wet snake-like pattern along one of John’s legs and to the crease of his thigh, before pressing another kiss there. Just before dragging his tongue where Sherlock knew John’s needs was the most prominent, a grating snore bubbled from above him.

Sherlock pulled back and raised his head, his mouth parting in complete disbelief when he stared up at his slumbering John. 

_He fell asleep in the middle of… right before I…_ Sherlock dipped his head, resting it against John’s inner thigh and surprised himself when a snort of hilarity dispelled from out of him. Hissing his soft laughter at John’s complete idiocy, Sherlock raised himself back up to lay beside his omega and smiled over at the naked fool. 

“You total idiot. Now what do I do?” Sherlock amusedly asked of the softly snoring omega. 

Sherlock released a heavy sigh before tugging the sheets from under John. Hopeful it might wake him, but when John just grumbled indistinct nonsense in his sleep, Sherlock couldn’t hate him for it. He raised the freed comforter over John’s prone form before slipping under the sheets himself and turning away from John.

Burying his face into the pillow, Sherlock released a helpless groan. His cock had flagged slightly, but still pulsed with a need unmet. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had felt aroused, but then again, those other times John always remained awake long enough so that they both received their releases. He could go to the restroom and handle himself, but Sherlock didn’t want that, not after feeling what it was like to have John, even if those memories were blurry. What he could remember was incredible. 

Still, John wasn’t on suppressants anymore and he found he didn’t much mind the idea of them being married in that way and form either. John’s scent was appealing once more and if the mood struck again, Sherlock would be sure that John wasn’t drunk; he didn’t think he’d be able to bear another one of these missed opportunities. 

Huffing a sharp breath, Sherlock closed his eyes and attempted to claim sleep once more. It took several measured calming breaths and thinking of Mycroft before his arousal dwindled to not and sleep finally claimed him.

  



	30. Chapter 30

When John woke it was to the pounding of his head and the sounds of the city seeping through the window and into the room. John groaned tiredly and buried his head in the pillow. Inhaling a deep breath, John was accosted by the familiar bittersweet scent of Sherlock, and the moment that scent registered, so too did the memories of last night flicker through his muddled mind. 

He remembered the cab ride home, the feel of a pulsing need growing prominent with the lewd thoughts of once bedding his husband. How he’d stumbled into Sherlock’s bedroom, pressing himself against the slumbering alpha, and proceeded to beg for Sherlock’s attention, for the same loving caresses he’d denied himself when he could have so easily taken them. He wanted that same care Sherlock had given him once before and this time he’d appreciate it. John wouldn’t ever push Sherlock away again. He was so desperate for Sherlock’s love and, even knowing that he’d lost his husband’s love, he still needed Sherlock. Oh and how Sherlock had been kind, kinder than he would have been if he were in Sherlock’s position. Sherlock, wonderful Sherlock gave him what he needed. He gave him tenderness and sympathy. And what did John do? 

“Urgh!” John groaned mortified as he recalled feeling so relaxed, warm and cared for and how his eyes became heavy and then he’d shut them in the starting of sleep. 

“Morning.” came the rasped answer to John’s muffled curses in the pillow under him.

John tensed immediately, unable to raise his head, unable to meet the eyes of the possessor of that voice, even when he felt a hand land on his back and begin to massage the tension out of his muscles. 

The graveling chuckle that rang out and filled the room had John’s face heating with a deep blush, thankfully hidden in the pillow.

“John.” Sherlock murmured; his voice thickly laced with amusement.

John said nothing, clamping his eyes shut tightly.

“Oh, are you being shy now?” Sherlock sighed softly, lips joining his hand and pressing over his bare shoulder blade. 

“Don’t be embarrassed John. I rather enjoyed your… enthusiasm.”

John frowned. Sherlock was teasing him.

“Go away.” John grumbled, mouth peeking out and voicing his request.

Sherlock laughed heartedly, his hand upon his back sliding lower and rounding at his side and tugged him against the warmth of Sherlock’s body. Sherlock’s lips glided up John’s back and higher still until his mouth rested at the nape of his neck.

“Why would I do that? Then I’d miss the look on your face when you finally decide to raise your head.”

“Stop teasing me.” John grumbled. 

Heated breath tickled the fine hairs at the nape of John’s neck and though he hated to admit it, it felt nice; the brushing of soft lips that glided over the tender skin there caused a full body shiver.

“ _Sherrrlooock_.” John whined. Why was Sherlock being so cruel? This wasn’t fair.

“Let me see your face.” was hotly whispered against John’s skin.

“No.” John huffed hastily; there was no way in hell he was ready to face everything he’d done.

“Really there is no need to feel embarrassed. It was all very flattering.” Sherlock nuzzled the back of John’s neck as he shifted closer and held John close to him.

“Show me your face.”

“Nnnmph!” John whimpered when a hand nudged him closer still to the warmth of Sherlock’s body and only then did John realize he was still naked.

“Please.”

Sherlock didn’t say please, not easily, John knew this. ‘Please’ and ‘Sorry’ were words Sherlock said little and only when in relation to John. The ‘please’ of Sherlock’s request made John want to look up even when he was so terribly humiliated. 

Inhaling a trembling breath, John cautiously raised his head up and was met by kind cerulean eyes staring back at him. The heat of John’s face worsened still when a grin curved the pale pink lips of Sherlock’s. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” John graveled.

“ _Oh_.” came the breathy murmur as John’s eyes lowered to focus on the pale flesh of Sherlock’s neck and a large hand palmed his cheek. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John sighed, closing his eyes, enjoying the warmth of Sherlock’s touch. John missed this, the tenderness of Sherlock’s touches. It almost felt like a dream to be feeling such care from Sherlock after so long of an absence. 

“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed. I rather like it… a lot.”

John’s brows furrowed in consternation. 

“I’m not teasing you John. I’m serious.” Sherlock quickly added and pressed a finger against the tension between his brows, pressing it away.

“Sounds like you are.”

“If you were to come to me again, needing… I wouldn’t reject you.”

John’s eyes snapped open with surprise.

“You…?”

“Surprisingly, I wouldn’t mind _deepening_ our martial relations.” Sherlock whispered softly, as if confessing a secret. 

John’s breath hitched, his heart hammering against his chest as he stared mutely at Sherlock, completely tongue-tied. Sherlock didn’t mind? Sherlock wouldn’t mind intimacy? 

_Sherlock?_

John tensed when the doorbell rang and he could do nothing more than stare wordlessly up at Sherlock. Cerulean eyes, once soft and open, shifted and were suddenly full of annoyance. 

Hard pounding from a distance followed another ring of the doorbell and Sherlock growled furiously.

“SHERLOCK!” the familiar call of Lestrade’s voice rang out from a distance.

Sherlock rested his head on the pillow beside John’s head and grumbled a string of curses as he released John, hissed a breath and slipped out of the bed before storming out to address the continuous pounding of a fist to their door.

The moment Sherlock exited the bedroom; John hopped out of the bed, and retrieved his discarded clothes lying about around the floor of Sherlock’s room. John could hear Sherlock’s annoyed voice and Lestrade’s muffled response as he hurriedly changed into his clothes.

Immediately after John stepped out of the room and entered the living room he found Sherlock standing in front of Lestrade, arms folded with an expression of boredom. 

“You won’t take it, seriously Sherlock?” Lestrade answered, baffled. 

“Boring.” Sherlock answered and moved to seat himself in his leather chair.

“Somebody was murdered!” Lestrade defended.

“People die. It’s not interesting enough for me. Really, Lestrade, you should know by now my preferences.”

“Apparently not.” Lestrade snarled and spun on his heel to exit the flat, but then caught sight of John. His eyes scanned over John’s form, taking notice he wore the same clothes he’d worn the night before and raised a questioning brow. 

John flushed and glanced away.

“Well that explains things.” Lestrade said with less anger as he glanced back over to Sherlock who made it a point to stare at the ceiling, uninterested, rather than meet the smirk on Lestrade’s face.

“I’ll handle this case alone then. John.” Lestrade said, and validated John’s presence as he left. The look in his eyes told him that the DI would have some questions. John moaned and palmed his face; he could just imagine the questions Lestrade would have lined up at their next meeting. 

“You really enjoy spending time with him?” Sherlock huffed the moment Lestrade left their flat, glaring agitatedly at John

“Lestrade? He’s our friend Sherlock, of course I do.”

“Lestrade is not my friend. He’s a collaborator at best.” Sherlock scoffed. 

John frowned; there was the Sherlock he was familiar with.

“I know you like him too, Sherlock.” John added stubbornly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and rose from his seat to pick up his violin and bow set out on the study table instead. Ignoring John’s statement Sherlock began to play a light pleasant piece of music that John had yet to hear. He liked it a lot.

Smiling in reply to Sherlock’s evasiveness, John moved to stand beside Sherlock and stared out the window in front of them. John slowly leaned in and stood in Sherlock’s personal space. This was nice. Even with the embarrassment of what happened, John couldn’t help but take the vocalized acknowledgement of Sherlock’s acceptance of a deepening of their marital bonds. 

“I love when you play the violin.”

Sherlock glanced over at John, one end of his lips twitching in a soft, barely-present smile before he plucked out a complex array of notes and John laughed, pleasantly surprised.

“You play beautifully.” John grinned and daringly leaned over to press a kiss to Sherlock’s free shoulder and smiled when Sherlock spun to stare at him, eyes softening, endearingly. 

“I should go shower and then I’ll make us brunch.” John declared and could see the agreement in Sherlock’s eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things between Sherlock and John remained relatively the same. Sherlock remained repressed and less open to expressions of affection. John was more affectionate, but not as he’d once been, still worried that if he asked for too much, Sherlock would pull away. Sherlock vocalized that the affection John would seek out would be accepted, but John wasn’t so sure he was ready to test this theory, even when he’d enjoyed their closeness the night after he’d gotten a little too drunk. Sherlock had expressed some affectionate touches and those were very much enjoyed, but John was full of nervousness now that he lacked liquid courage.

There was also the matter of John’s decision to never go back to the way things had been before Sherlock deleted their love. John truly was ready to love and he didn’t feel as scared expressing his love for Sherlock. John had been practicing confessing and the confessions were coming easily and were heartfelt. John didn’t feel the need to hide his feelings any longer, only he wanted his confession to mean something. He was ready. He was sure of it. When the time presented itself, when he felt Sherlock was ready for his confession he’d finally say it, and hopefully it would lead to the development of trust and deepening of their bonds. Hopefully with his expression of love Sherlock would open himself to the idea of loving John in return. If Sherlock somehow fell back in love with him, John would cherish Sherlock for the rest of his life. He’d never take Sherlock for granted again. Never again would he hurt Sherlock. John would rather die than hurt Sherlock again. 

Then they’d been called to assist their new client Henry Knight. John thought the man was a complete nutter, but surprisingly Sherlock wanted to take the case. John was worried Sherlock might believe their client’s story, but Sherlock reassured John he wanted to disprove the notion of a Great Hound’s existence. 

John didn’t much want to take the case, but when he realized that they’d be taking a road trip to solve the case, John was more open to the idea. The case he cared little about, but traveling…

_“Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?” Henry had asked of Sherlock._

_“No.” Sherlock had answered simply._

_“It’s an amazing place. It’s like nowhere else. It’s sort of… bleak, but beautiful.”_

_“Mm, not interested. Moving on.” Sherlock had sniped, but John had started to wonder._

Dartmoor sounded like a wonderful place to take a trip to, and John began to contemplate all the beautiful sightseeing trips he could take with Sherlock. The small local shops they could explore. There must be a cozy hotel or inn they could reserve for themselves, and in the beauty of Dartmoor, during the high of a case, that would be the best place to consummate his love for Sherlock. The best place to confess his love and work up the courage to strengthen their relations.

The trip getting to Dartmoor was long, but enjoyable private time between them. John smiled as they drove down a road and viewed the beautiful landscape.

“It’s all so beautiful.” John admired Dartmoor and Sherlock merely sighed, wishing the drive was over so that they could start up on their case. 

“I know Sherlock. We’ll handle this case, but after you’ve promised me three days of sightseeing.” John grinned wildly, eyes softening as he stared at Sherlock focusing on the road.

“Mm.” Sherlock hummed in reply.

John laughed softly and received an arched brow and a flash of questioning sea-green eyes.

“I must be mad, because I think you’re absolutely stunning in whatever you do. I think I like watching you drive more than I like staring out at the scenery.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, his shoulders stiffening with the awkwardness of John’s unexpected flirting.

“Check the map and make sure we’re still on rout.” Sherlock mumbled.

John beamed and didn’t comment when Sherlock’s features colored over in a pale pink before he retrieved the map to check.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The monstrous hound—John thought it was complete and utter shit, but then Sherlock. Sherlock was sitting there, his hands poised in his thinking pose and his breathing erratic and John felt his stomach knot with nerves. Sherlock was barely holding back a panic attack and that frightened John, because Sherlock was terrified.

“So, okay, what have we got? We know there are footprints, because Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something.” John tried to clarify everything in the hopes it would clear the worry from Sherlock’s mind and have him refocus on the case. 

Sherlock exhaled another trembling breath, and John frowned worriedly in response. 

“Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog.”

“Henry’s right.”

“What?”

“I saw it too.” Sherlock confessed, his voice sounding frail and John’s heart pulsed painfully at the lost look Sherlock gave him. 

“What?”

“I saw it too, John.”

“Just… Just a minute.” Leaning forward, John searched Sherlock’s face for answers to what Sherlock was so clearly saying. 

“You saw what?”

Sherlock’s eyes locked with John’s own, meeting them dead-on as he begrudgingly admitted to the insanity of his proclamations, “A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.”

John was close to laughing because this couldn’t be happening. His husband couldn’t believe such an illogical thing as this, but then Sherlock looked away from him and John saw the glint in his eyes. Sherlock was close to tears and as he blinked his eyes to hide his emotions, John swallowed dryly as he came to the realization; Sherlock really believed he saw what he saw. 

“Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of _all_ people, can’t just…”

Sherlock huffed angrily as his answer.

“Let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.” John tried to reason with Sherlock, but Sherlock would take John’s consoling words or his rationalization of things.

“Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid.” Sherlock took a drink of the glass he’s swiped from a table and then held it up to stare at the glass, his hand shaking. 

“Sherlock?” John’s voice filled with concern.

“Always been able to keep myself distant… divorce myself from… feelings. But look, you see…” Sherlock offered his shaking hand as proof and John winced at Sherlock’s cold words—something the old Sherlock would never tell him. Others, yes, but never to John, because sentiment was understandable when in relation to John. Not anymore. Sherlock rejected sentiment and somehow, John forgot this, and he didn’t know why he chose to ignore what was so plain now.

“…body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.” Sherlock then slammed the glass to the table. “The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.” 

“Yeah, all right, Spock, just…” John was tense himself, hurt, and frustrated with Sherlock’s disregard of his care as he devalued his sense of sentiment and therefore devalued his feelings for John. 

Comprehending he’d raised his voice in his anger; John glanced around them and noticed the patrons’ eyes on them.

“Take it easy.” John attempted to soothe his hurts and Sherlock’s panic.

Breathing uneven heavy breaths, Sherlock still failed to calm himself. To control the panic racing through him, and stared up at John completely helpless and in need.

“You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.” John was trying to be comforting, to calm Sherlock and reassure him that things would be okay, but Sherlock took it as condescending and after, he realized he shouldn’t have taken the bait.

“Worked… up?”

“It was dark and scary…”

Sherlock laughed a sardonic, cruel laugh, no amusement in his eyes, just anger, “ _Me?_ There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Sherlock’s breathing intensified and John worried Sherlock was close to full-blown hyperventilating. Sherlock looked away again to press his fingertips to his temples, and groaned in anguish. 

John’s eyes softened with distress, wanting nothing more than to embrace Sherlock and reassure him. 

“Sherlock…”

Sherlock took more deep breaths, his fingers trembling against his skin and John’s omega was close to whimpering in need for its alpha, for the strong Sherlock he knew and not this frightened husband that wasn’t the same husband he’d married. John’s omega couldn’t bare his alpha feeling frightened. 

“Sher…” John’s whimper was cut off with an angry snarl.

“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!” Sherlock’s cold glare stabbed at John’s sore heart.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Sherlock’s eyes glanced over to the patrons who were now staring in shock at them. 

“You want me to prove it, yes?”

“We’re looking for a dog, yes. A great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?”

Sherlock searched the room they were in and then pointed towards a man and a woman who sat opposite of each other at a table within the restaurant. 

“How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes.”

“Yes?” John answered softly, tiredly, Sherlock was speaking nastily at him and it hurt. John was Sherlock’s husband. They’d gone through so much together, and now… Sherlock was talking to him with such abhorrence; it was breaking John’s heart to be treated so maliciously.

“She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Oh, Sherlock, for God’s sake.” John pleaded for Sherlock to stop this, his heart was going to burst from the piling of wretched pain. He didn’t think he could take Sherlock’s anger much more. Ashamed as he was to admit it, he was close to losing himself to emotions and he really didn’t want Sherlock to see him in tears. The way Sherlock was acting right now, he might very well break John at the revelation of sentiment. 

Sherlock looked to a man. 

“Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money.”

“He’s treating her to a meal, but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economize on his own food.”

“Well, maybe he’s just not hungry.” John offered, but then he realized he should have just stayed quiet because Sherlock was angry and wanted to seek out a confrontation with him. 

When Sherlock finished laying out his long list of observations and deducing the man to the finest of details, John could only agree with him.

“Yeah. Okay, okay.” He was so done with trying. 

John blinked back the dampness filling his eyes and stared sadly up at a furious Sherlock.

“And why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.” John cursed bitterly the last of his words.

“I don’t need a friend.” Sherlock savagely snarled.

That hurt… That really, _really hurt_. John eyes clamped shut as he exhaled a trembling breath and nodded his head in acceptance. 

_He doesn’t love you._ John reminded himself sadly.

“Right, I’m just the omega you got saddled with. I’ll be sure to keep my distance.” John answered weakly. He had no fight in him as he rose from his seat, not able to bear looking at Sherlock he left quickly and kept his gaze down to the floor. 

The moment John exited the restaurant, he couldn’t seem to calm his breathing, nor stop the tears from escaping then as he stared up at the sky.

“You’re cruel Sherlock.” John sobbed softly.

No. John wasn’t going to cry. He refused to cry. He was going to solve this fucking case, reassure Sherlock that he wasn’t crazy, and then Sherlock could go fuck himself because John wasn’t going to try anymore.

That was when he noticed the flashing of light on the hillside once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taking a walk is the best way to calm ones pained heart, isn’t it? John thought so, and so he’d woken early to take a walk and enjoy the beauty of the small town. As John sat on the steps of a war memorial and looked over his notes in his journal, John heard the footsteps of another and raised his head to look up and found Sherlock standing before him.

John wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He felt unwelcomed in Sherlock’s presence, even though Sherlock was the one to come to him and all he wanted to do now was leave. Tucking his small notebook into his pocket, John turned to leave. Sherlock grimaced at the wordless rebuff to his presence and quickly moved to stand in front of John, blocking his path.

“Did you…er, get anywhere with that Morse code?” Sherlock asked inelegantly.

John could see the guilt in Sherlock’s eyes, the wordless apology that was there, but John didn’t want it. He didn’t want to talk to Sherlock and get hurt again. He wasn’t going to stupidly try and console his spiteful husband. 

_Fuck you, Sherlock._

“No.” John wasn’t going to say more, he didn’t want to start a conversation, and stepped around Sherlock to continue his path. 

Even as John tried to leave, Sherlock wouldn’t let him, instead Sherlock followed after him like a lost puppy.

“UMQRA.” Sherlock worded, trying to make sense of it.

_Fucking, Sherlock._

“Nothing.”

“U. M. Q…”

“Look, forget it. It’s… I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Did you get any information?”

_You’re really trying? You must feel exceptionally guilty._

“You being funny now?”

“Thought it might break the ice a bit.”

“Funny doesn’t suit you. I’d stick to ice.”

_Asshole._

John spun then, unable to see Sherlock’s pained gaze as he kept walking away leaving Sherlock standing there in anguish.

“John…” Sherlock voice was strained, and John didn’t want to hear that.

“It’s fine.” John found himself consoling despite trying not to. Sherlock should feel hurt. Why did he feel the urge to soothe the jerk?

“No, wait. What happened last night… Something happened to me; something I’ve not really experienced before…”

“Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.”

Sherlock caught up to John’s hurried pace and took hold of his arm, pulling him around to face him.

“No, no, no. It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my sense, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.”

“You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster.” John answered incredulously.

“No, I can’t believe that.” Sherlock answered with a frayed grin. “But I did see it, so the question is: How? _How?_ ”

“Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you’ve got something to go on, then? Good luck with that.” John said and then turned again as he started to walk away again.

“Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it.”

John stopped then and turned to glare at Sherlock. 

_I can’t have your love. Now I can’t even have your friendship?_

“I don’t have friends.”

John hated how his eyes stung and he was ready to leave, ready to punch Sherlock in the face if he tried to stop him when Sherlock spoke again.

Biting his bottom lip uneasily Sherlock rasped, “I have you… my husband.” 

John couldn’t look at Sherlock, turning away briefly to take in Sherlock’s confession. All he’d thought he could hope for was friendship and possibly some kind of closeness. That Sherlock didn’t see him as a friend but his husband, spouse, mate that meant more than he could have hoped for.

John’s features softened. The tugging at his heart felt more heartening than painful now.

“Right.” John swallowed dryly, not wishing for Sherlock to see just how affected he was by the very sentimental confession his husband just made and began walking once more.

Sherlock lowered his head at the not so emotional response of John, when something was set a light and he jerked his head back up again.

“John. John!” Sherlock chased after John. 

“You are amazing! You are fantastic!”

John continued to walk, but his heart filled with affection as Sherlock laid on praise. 

“Yes, all right! You don’t have to overdo it.”

“You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.”

“Cheers… What?”

Sherlock began walking beside John as he spoke again, “Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.”

“Hang on; you were saying, ‘Sorry’ a minute ago. Don’t spoil it. Go on: what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?” John smiled honestly then, this Sherlock was kinder, more acceptable, John never wanted that savage Sherlock again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the case was good and well solved, John was relieved. There were few times where he’d been close to strangling Sherlock, especially after the whole drugged up lab debacle, but in the end, John decided to be the better man and forgive Sherlock. It might have been cruel, but after all that John had done to Sherlock, he was willing to let this one slide. Plus being angry took so much effort and all John wanted to do now was enjoy their vacation. They had three days alone, together, no cases, no distractions, and wonderfully, no Mycroft. There was also the nice fact that Sherlock was wrong about the sugar being laced with drugs, and it felt _so good_ to rub it in the snarky sod's face. Nevertheless, John had plans for these wonderful three days that entailed just the two of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft’s analyst managed to find his informant and with his information, he had successfully apprehended Jim Moriarty. Only, things were not progressing in the way he’d planned for them to go. Moriarty sat silently in his chair, arms crossed over the table, eyes closed in the middle of a small concreted interrogation room. In an adjoining room stood Mycroft, staring through the one way mirror to watch the calm criminal.

Several moments later the door leading to Moriarty opened and Mycroft entered. For long moments in time the two spoke, words dulled by the separating one way mirror. When they only sat staring at one another, having said all they needed, Mycroft stood and exited the room.

“All right. Let him go.” Mycroft ordered one of his agents as he walked out.

  



	31. Chapter 31

The case solved and done with, John set out in starting their actual vacation. John took Sherlock sightseeing, and now they could truly appreciate the scenery. They took long walks near the Moor. They walked side by side in the enchanting forest. They strolled downtown and window shopped. John took the time to speak with a nice couple who owned an antique shop, and the wife happily told them the history of the town, being sure to point out some of the merchandise within the shop and how it related to the town’s history. They ate different specialties of several well-known and frequented restaurants. 

John enjoyed their daily trips, and though Sherlock didn’t come right out and say it, John knew Sherlock was bored. He could only imagine Sherlock would rather be checking up on his current mold experiment back home and be free to accept a case if one were to come his way. John’s features would tense and he’d frown with displeasure when he caught Sherlock eyeing his wristwatch, fiddling with his phone, or staring off into the distance—longing to go back to the hustle bustle city life of London. When Sherlock caught John’s gaze, he’d smile sheepishly and once again give John his full attention. 

It was their third and last day now and come morning they’d be heading back to the city. Sherlock looked rather exhausted by the time they made it back to the inn that evening. John couldn’t really blame him. John foolishly had taken a right instead of a left in the forest and they’d lost their way back. Thankfully, Sherlock and his impeccable deducing abilities were able to help them find their way back, but by then they’d walked far more than intended. 

Sherlock smiled softly at John, retrieved his room key, and bid John a good night’s rest before entering his room and quietly shutting the door behind him. John could only imagine what Billy thought of them: the well-known consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and his husband John Watson renting two rooms. They didn’t even share the same last name and really that was John’s doing. One of the few things their parents had allowed John to decide was whether or not he wished to change his surname. Originally he’d refused changing it, but that was before he knew Sherlock, before he fell in love. Now, John didn’t quite mind the idea of being John Holmes. It had a nice ring to it. Made him feel whole and wanted. 

John laughed at his folly before retrieving his own room key and opened the door across from Sherlock’s room. A nice warm bath sounded just about right to John, it was the perfect way to soak away his aches from their rather exerting trip. 

After John treated himself to a nice hot bath where he finished reading one of the many books on his kindle, John lay out on the bed and switched the television on. For a long while John enjoyed just resting—the last few days had been rather busy what with working the case and then doing all he could possibly fit in the last three days of their vacation. 

As John recalled these last three days he’d spent with Sherlock, he smiled fondly. Sherlock wasn’t one for enjoying lying about and doing nothing of significance, but he’d done so to please John. This had to mean Sherlock was growing attached to John, and there were some feelings there. John didn’t think Sherlock loved him yet, but he appreciated his assistance when working and he seemed to care about John’s feelings. 

John closed his eyes and pressed his head deeply against his pillow, recalling that drunken night he’d boldly gone into Sherlock’s room, brazenly humping Sherlock like some depraved dog, and how Sherlock hadn’t laughed at him though he had every right to. No, Sherlock listened and gave some relief to John before he’d stupidly fallen asleep.

Planting his hand over his stomach John slid the gray cotton of his shirt up and ran the pads of his fingers over the welt of his surgical scar. His breathing grew unsteady with the mixture of emotions that filled him. The scar would never diminish, always would it remain a lengthy red mark of what he’d lost, but still—through the pain of his loss, there were other memories. The memories of Sherlock placing affection on his stomach, of the tender kisses that Sherlock had and still did place there, even after their loss, and the memory of what they’d been able to create together. 

Seven precious lives, maybe more, lost by hate—John didn’t think he’d ever forget or stop grieving, but Sherlock had been right. In time John would be able to live again. John was sure it wouldn’t have happened if not for Sherlock being there for him. Without Sherlock’s comfort and love he’d have withered away into nothing. 

“I love you.” John whispered in the silence of the room as he opened his eyes.

_I have to tell you that._ John rose from the bed, swiped his key from the bedside counter and left his room. 

Walking across the way to Sherlock’s room, John knocked twice and waited. As he waited, John suddenly felt a sense of nerves take root.

_What am I thinking? Sherlock isn’t the Sherlock from before. Would he even understand how to love? Shouldn’t I wait until Sherlock falls for me before confessing? What if I confess and Sherlock isn’t ready for it?_

There was a dull shuffle and in the next moment the door swung open to reveal a curious Sherlock. The man’s deep red robe unclasped, open to reveal he was wearing a plain white t-shirt and silver blue striped sleeping slacks. John knew it wasn’t much, but to John… Sherlock was breathtaking. Sherlock could open the door wearing a trash bag and to John, Sherlock would be the most beautiful person out there. Sherlock was John’s everything.

“John?” Sherlock called tentatively, more question than greeting.

John drew in a trembling deep breath unable to voice the confession he’d spent months trying to perfect and instead blurted something else he’d wanted to say for so very long.

“I want to sleep with you.”

_Kill me. Just… Oh Lord God, kill me now._

Heat blossomed across John’s face all as Sherlock’s eyes widened and his mouth parted, though words did not escape.

John hadn’t meant it in that way, and although Sherlock had said he wouldn’t mind deepening their relationship in such a way, this was definitely not the way to go about doing such. 

“Just sleep… Um, nothing of that nature.” John amended awkwardly.

The heat of his face spread to his ears at Sherlock answering grin.

“I wouldn’t mind it being of that nature, so long as I’ve had more of a warning.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with amusement. “Come in.”

Sherlock moved to the side allowing John to enter. John stood gracelessly within the middle of the room, watching with doe eyes as Sherlock shut the door and turned to face him.

“I was just heading to bed. Shall we…?” Sherlock motioned to the pristinely made bed and John’s flush lowered to the expanse of his neck.

God, it felt hot, and John knew it was just him. He couldn’t stop feeling so nervous, flustered, and like a virgin. He was no virgin, not after the many times Sherlock had claimed him during his heat and that one time after, but still… John felt so unsure of himself, unsure of how to present himself to Sherlock. He really wanted Sherlock in that way, but everything felt so off, like it wasn’t time for that. He must be crazy; they’d been married for almost a year now and they’d only had sex twice—one being a whole bunch of times during his heat, but that didn’t count, and that one time after. 

Maybe having sex would bring them closer, work through the distance and ineptness that was their marriage. John didn’t want that though. He wanted… he wanted to _make love_ with Sherlock. He didn’t want ‘sex’ or a ‘fuck’, what they had was more than that. What they had… It was special. It was worth waiting for. 

“John.” Sherlock called snapping John from his thoughts.

John was surprised to find Sherlock had already set his robe at the foot of the bed and was under the covers waiting with a smug grin upon his face.

“Er… Right.” John mumbled, moving to the other side of the bed and placing his room key on the bedside table that was near before slipping under the covers to join Sherlock.

John and Sherlock lay on their backs. Sherlock’s hands were folded over the comforter across his abdomen whereas John laid his hands over his chest. Both stared up at the cream colored ceiling for a long while, not the least bit tired. 

After what must have been twenty minutes of painful silence, Sherlock snorted with amusement. John jumped, surprised by the sound and stared stunned. The Sherlock that wasn’t quite his Sherlock didn’t laugh often, in fact the last time he could remember Sherlock laughing this hard was when they’d been at Buckingham Palace. 

Regardless of the peculiarity of Sherlock’s outburst, John smiled, heartened by the attractive wrinkles crinkling around Sherlock’s eyes and mouth as he laughed wholeheartedly.

“What? What’s so funny?” John asked brightly.

“You!” 

“ _Me!?_ ” John demanded, having to know what about himself had made Sherlock so amused.

Sherlock rolled onto his side to fully face John, placing a hand over John’s hand resting on the omega’s chest. His laughter softened. John’s smile faltered with nerves now that Sherlock lay so close to him and pressed some of his weight in the hand he rested over John’s.

“You... John Hamish Watson, my sweetly naive John, are so entertaining.” Sherlock chuckled kindly, sliding his hand away from John’s to palm his cheek instead.

“That wasn’t a clarification.” John answered, restlessly staring into the brightness of his husband’s eyes, trying to search them for answers. “Sounded somewhat like an insult, really.”

“We’re married and look at us? What would others think?”

John thought about it and tried not to laugh. The smile he endeavored to frown away fought its way through. “They’d think, ‘They’re completely daft’—or something like that.”

Sherlock laughed again and nodded. “They’re the saddest couple.”

“They act like an old married couple.”

“They’re mental.”

“You’re mental. I’m just mad.”

“You buffoon, that’s the same thing.” Sherlock smirked.

“Mental is strictly reserved for you.” John murmured lovingly. Sighing happily, John palmed the hand Sherlock used to stroke his cheek.

“They care for each other?” John led, confessing, hopeful.

Sherlock remained silent, gazing deeply into John’s pleading eyes and rasped, “Mm, they care for each other.”

“They don’t know how to express their feelings.” John led again, finding this was another way of confessing and finding out just how Sherlock felt.

Sherlock leaned close to John and pressed his nose to John’s brow, rubbing firmly against his skin, scenting his husband. Alpha pheromones thickened within the room, clouding John’s mind.

“The alpha likes his omega?”

Sherlock remained voiceless for several beats, only because he’d spared those moments to press his lips along the bridge of John’s nose in a warm delicate kiss.

“Obviously.”

“The omega is slowly opening the alpha’s heart.” John dared one final time.

Sherlock leaned back to meet John’s wet stare, a finger pressing along John’s temple, catching a single tear that escaped.

“Maybe.” Sherlock huskily admitted. 

John swallowed heavily. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was the moment he’d been waiting for. Maybe John should just say it now. 

“Sherlock… I…” 

“Shhh.” Sherlock stopped John.

“But…”

“It’s enough for tonight.”

“Why?”

Sherlock smiled weakly and John knew it then. This was far more than Sherlock was comfortable with, too much would overwhelm him. John shut his eyes and nodded in conformance. Sherlock wasn’t ready for what all of this would mean, but from what Sherlock had already confessed to, he’d come far. John could wait. He could be patient for Sherlock and when he was ready, Sherlock would make it known.

“Let’s sleep, hmm?” Sherlock suggested. 

“Mm.” John hummed, turning on his side when one of Sherlock’s arms snaked under him and brought John close.

John took great comfort when Sherlock’s hand on his cheek slid into his hair and stroked at it kindly as John laid his head over Sherlock, pressing his ear to his mate’s chest and listened to the steady pounding of his heart.

“You feel good.” John spoke without thought, and frankly in the warmth of Sherlock’s arms he didn’t care.

“As do you.” Sherlock declared.

John exhaled a deep breath, sneaking one of his arms under Sherlock’s shoulder, his other stroking over the open space of Sherlock’s chest.

“I really do care for you Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but continued to affectionately caress John’s scalp with his fingers, until John drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another complex case came their way and together Sherlock and John were able to solve it. John smiled, feeling so much pride in Sherlock, because although he helped, without Sherlock’s fascinating mind they couldn’t have gotten far. His wonderfully brilliant husband was able to see things everyone else couldn’t and solve a seemingly unsolvable case.

Sherlock stopped just outside of New Scotland Yard’s department and turned around when John was no longer walking at his side. John’s eyes twinkled in the morning light as Sherlock’s brows furrowed with contemplation.

“John?”

“You are absolutely brilliant, you know that?” John praised. 

“Really John, I knew that already.” A faint smile crossed Sherlock’s lips before it vanished from existence. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

“Mm.” John hummed with agreement.

They settled for a little French bakery not too far from them. As they ate their meal, John slid his legs between Sherlock’s, pressing the outer parts of his against Sherlock’s inner legs.

Sherlock’s fork scraped loudly on his plate, missing his strawberry by inches, his head snapped up and he stared completely taken aback.

“Oh don’t look so scandalized. I’m not going to play footie or whatever it’s called. Just… I like being near and touching you.”

It must be sleep deprivation that was making John so bold in his expressions. Hell, since he’d already started, why not continue? 

Sherlock gave a curt nod of understanding, before forking up the piece of strawberry he’d intended to eat before and took a bite.

“God, you’re lips are lovely.”

Sherlock choked on that same treacherous strawberry, completely losing his poise as he hurriedly grabbed his glass of water and guzzled it down, pushing the reluctant strawberry the rest of the way down his throat. 

“ _John_.” Sherlock strangled out and attempted to clear his throat. 

“Bit not good?” John posed.

Sherlock sent him a look that clearly said it wasn’t.

“I can’t help it. We’ve been up for two days straight and all I can think about is how beautiful you are. I’m so lucky I have you.”

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was overwrought with sentiment, eyes seeming to ask for something, but for one reason or another, he was unable to express what it was he needed.

“You are so smart, strong, and witty. I love everything about you.” John admitted without realizing what he revealed until after he’d spoken.

_Was that my confession of love? Maybe?_

Sherlock dropped his fork on the plate with a resonating clatter. 

“I think you need to sleep.” Sherlock observed after a lengthy silence.

“With you?” John smiled genially. 

Sherlock flushed a warm pink and looked away, staring out the restaurant’s window.

“If you want.” Sherlock replied simply.

“I want. I very much want.” John cheerily replied. “Check please!” 

“You do realize we’ve only just began eating?” Sherlock inquired of his overly eager omega, hating that he could not hide this smile from existence.

“Oh sod off. You hardly like eating anyways and I’m too tired to care.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They quickly bagged their meals and made their way back home. When they entered, Sherlock took their to-go bag to the kitchen to put it away while John went upstairs to change his clothes and get ready for bed.

When John had changed into a pair of black sweats and a plain white t-shirt he made his way downstairs to find Sherlock was no longer in the kitchen and eagerly made his way to the alpha’s bedroom. John found Sherlock shrugging on a pale blue shirt that matched the slacks he’d chosen to wear for bed. The flash of a pale abdomen and toned outline of abs set a blaze the want that was always within John.

John inhaled an unstable breath. He hadn’t come for that. The desire was always there, but right now John wanted to hold Sherlock while they slept, more than the deepening of their physical relationship. They had all the time in the world for that. 

“Hey.” John softly greeted as Sherlock’s shirt shifted down.

Sherlock stared up at John, his eyes softening with voiceless greeting, and stepped to his side of the bed.

“Come.” Sherlock spoke as he shuffled under the comforter and tossed the blankets open on John’s side welcomingly. 

John didn’t dither in taking his place beside Sherlock, nor did he second guess himself when wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist and pressing his chest to Sherlock’s back, spooning him snugly. 

“You’re a cuddler aren’t you?” There was humor in Sherlock’s voice.

“Are you complaining?” John grumbled unhappily, put off by the idea that he took more enjoyment at their closeness than Sherlock. 

“I’m merely stating an observation.”

“An observation that need not be stated.”

“Have I upset you?”

“No. Being married to you, I have to have thicker skin than that.”

“Mm.”

“You were amazing today Sherlock. I hope you know how proud you made me.”

“You’ve been rather vocal today, haven’t you?” Sherlock supposed good-naturedly. 

“I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

“I’m starting to see just how much.” Sherlock’s voice was gentle then, as if truly taking in just how much feeling John possessed for him.

“Does it unsettle you?” John pressed his nose to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and inhaled his pleasing scent.

Sherlock said nothing for a brief moment, seeming to consider just how it made him feel. John suddenly felt Sherlock relax in his hold, shift his head back and closer still to John’s scenting while his arms folded over John’s wrapped around his waist. 

Sherlock gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Somewhat, but I find that I feel less so each time.” 

“You _like_ me?” John smirked and squeezed Sherlock affectionately.

“I must be fond of you to let you hold me just so.” Sherlock’s quiet laughter warmed John’s heart. 

“John?” Sherlock’s fingers smoothed over the light layer of hair on one of John’s arms, tickling him through the drowsiness of sleep. 

“Hmm?”

“Sleep now. We’ll talk more when we’ve rested some.” 

John had to agree with Sherlock and shifted his head slightly so that he could share Sherlock’s pillow, his nose pressed against the soft curls of Sherlock’s hair as he shut his eyes and found himself drifting off to sleep, the scent of Sherlock following him in his slumber.

  



	32. Chapter 32

The room was silent. The clouds were gray. Gloomy weather of London city matched the bleakness within John’s heart. He was tired. Weakened from months of malnutrition, of many sleepless nights. There was nothing left for him here and he’d die, there was no changing that, damn what everyone else wanted, damn Mycroft’s efforts. An omega couldn’t function without their mate. 

“Why today?” Ella finally asked of John, her voice firm yet yielding.

“Do you want to hear me say it?” John rasped shakily, a hint of anger layering the pain in his voice.

“Eighteen months since our last appointment.”

“Do you read the papers?”

“Sometimes.” Ella confirmed.

“And you watch telly? You know why I’m here. I’m here becau—”

“What happened, John?”

_You know. All of London knows. Why make me say it?_

John stared pleadingly at Ella, not wanting to voice the paining truth he had to live with every second of every day.

“Sherlock…” John’s voice broke, so weak, so soft, and barely audible; saying that name tore John’s bleeding heart to pieces.

“You need to get it out.” Ella explained what was so obvious, but something that seemed terribly difficult. 

John gave a frail nod of his head, knowing he needed to, but _God_ it hurt. Why did he have to say this?

“My best friend… My husband… Sherlock Holmes… is dead.” John whispered sorrowfully, turning his head away from Ella’s gaze to hide the tears that came bursting forth and trickling along his pale face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

__  
Three Months Earlier  


John Watson smiled, full of love and admiration, at his beautiful husband. Listening to an animated Sherlock reveal to Scotland Yard’s officers and the hotel owner how the now apprehended killer was able to commit his murders within the hotel during its busiest hours without being caught. John had thought it was one of the managers, but Sherlock had other ideas, and in the end it was revealed that the janitor did it. John should have seen it, but Sherlock had the wonderful talent of picking up the smallest of clues that led to larger clues, that in the end led them to their answer. 

“You’re absolutely _fantastic_.” John leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear, murmuring it affectionately the moment the cab they’d entered lurched forward.

Sherlock inhaled shakily, pulled away enough to meet John’s smile, and immediately turned to stare out the window. It was an attempt to hide the flush blossoming across his face—John knew Sherlock well enough to know this, and instead shuffled closer, seating himself in the middle and pressing against Sherlock’s right side.

John didn’t feel happy most times, but this was one of the few times John was truly happy. Ever since their trip two weeks ago, John had been sleeping with Sherlock in the alpha’s room. It was starting to feel like their room once more and John was sure Sherlock cared more for him each passing day.

“Stop that.” Sherlock admonished behind his hand he used to clasp over his mouth as he leaned his arm against his door rest and stared out the window still.

John grinned smugly and leaned in closer, pressing more of his weight into Sherlock’s side.

“Stop what?” John asked innocently.

Sherlock closed his eyes and lowered his arm to join his other, hugging his lower abdomen and resting his forehead against the cool window.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“I think you like it.”

“…”

“Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop.” John whispered, momentarily glancing over to their oblivious cab driver before moving in closer and brushing his nose along Sherlock’s prominent jaw. 

“Jesus, you always smell so good.” John confessed.

“ _John_.”

Sherlock didn’t tell John to stop again, nor did he say he didn’t like it, so John wouldn’t stop. It was nice teasing Sherlock after the alpha had his fun with him the day after his drunken antics. John wanted to tease Sherlock just a bit more, enjoying the heat of Sherlock’s blush that spread down his neck. 

“ _Sherlock_.” John hummed lovingly. “My sweet repressed Sherlock.”

John enjoyed the feel of the full body shiver that coursed through Sherlock’s form and dotingly pressed his lips along the curve of his mate’s jaw.

_God, I really love you._

“Mm.” Sherlock moaned softly, pulling away from the window and instead turned his head to face John, his eyes wide open, a thousand thoughts flashing through them.

John palmed Sherlock’s cheek in one hand while his other lowered to clasp around Sherlock’s that rested on his lap.

“You are my sweet repressed Sherlock, are you not?”

Sherlock remained voiceless for a long moment, staring searchingly into John’s eyes.

“I am.” Sherlock husked, blinking slowly, his hand in John’s squeezed firmly with confirmation.

“Good.” John beamed. “I’m yours. I’ll always be just yours, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock’s eyes softened and after a moment of Sherlock briefly breaking their eye contact to stare at their interlaced hands he stared back up at John and smiled.

“Come closer.” 

“What?” John balked at the soft command Sherlock made and found his own face heating up.

“Come closer.” Sherlock repeated himself, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.

John swallowed thickly, glanced at their cab driver once more, affirming he wasn’t paying attention to them and focused on the road, John leaned closer.

“Closer.” Sherlock urged again.

John never broke eye contact with Sherlock as he pressed their chests together, but still it wasn’t enough for his love because he husked, “Closer.”

John’s ears felt hot as Sherlock’s bangs brushed against his forehead and the heat of Sherlock’s breath caress his sensitive lips. John’s lips parted wishing to kiss Sherlock, yet unsure if he would be welcomed to do so even when Sherlock’s eyes slowly closed.

“ _John_.” Sherlock said gently, dipping his head and pressing their foreheads solidly together. “Mine?”

“Yours.” John answered weakly, shutting his eyes then and nuzzling Sherlock’s nose with his own in an Eskimos’ kiss, foreheads pressed together still.

“Forever?”

“Eternally.”

“Your body?”

“Yours.”

“Your thoughts?”

“Yours.”

“Your soul?”

“Mm, it’s yours. All yours.”

“Mine to do with as I wish?”

“As you wish.”

“Open your eyes.” Sherlock requested and John did, finding Sherlock’s eyes were open as well.

Sherlock pulled away only a fraction, not enough to stop his bangs from tickling John’s forehead, nor stop the heat of Sherlock’s breath brushing teasingly along his lips.

“The same.” 

John stilled, trying to follow Sherlock’s words and their meaning, but he was at a loss. Sherlock seemed to find amusement with John being unable to understand his meaning. Raising their clasped hands up, Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s inner wrist in a tender kiss.

“The same for me.”

John understood then and hated how he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering over in that moment. Sherlock really felt the same. Sherlock really did care deeply for him. He could be falling in love with him at this very moment. 

John chortled merrily, pressing his lips against Sherlock’s cheek before brushing them to Sherlock’s warm ear, loving it tenderly as he spoke his next words.

“ _Sherlock_...” So simple an utterance, but the depths of his articulation of his husband’s name held with it the love he had yet to voice in anything other than, “ _Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock._ ”

Sherlock’s free arm wrapped around John’s waist and brought him in close in a warm embrace and Sherlock sang softly against John’s own ear. “ _John… John. John. John._ ”

Maybe in Sherlock’s utterance of his name he was trying to express his own subliminal message of love. John hoped he was right in hearing that voiceless, _‘Love… I love you. I love you. I love you.’_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John never knew the blog he’d started would become so popular. That his stories of their cases would blow up and make them famous. Sherlock being honored by New Scotland Yard was both amusing and pleasing. Sherlock didn’t much want to go, but John thought it was wonderful that London… The world admired Sherlock’s gifts.

Sally and Anderson gifting Sherlock a deerstalker hat wasn’t so kind, but secretly, John found Sherlock unbelievably sexy with it on. _God_ … if John didn’t check himself he’d soon develop a fetish—he was already imagining Sherlock wearing just that hat while fucking him mercilessly with it on. God, he already had a fetish. John was starting to blush every time he saw that hat and Sherlock was bound to figure it out if he didn’t stop. 

John was pleased Sherlock was being validated for his work, but he also feared the growing fame, because the press was known to turn on those in the light. John couldn’t take Sherlock being cruelly talked about by the press. They’d already turned on John after… after Moriarty attacked him. He could only imagine what they’d say about Sherlock. 

John wanted to have Sherlock keep a low profile now, just until another story took the press’ attention from Sherlock. Only that wouldn’t happen, not when he’d received the news he’d wanted and dreaded in equal fervor. 

Moriarty was back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the trial was to begin, John lay beside Sherlock in bed. Sherlock stared blankly at the ceiling much like John did. John was anxious and a bit frightened with the idea that he’d be facing the man that had taken their future away from them.

“You don’t have to go if…” Sherlock began. The press was already hounding them, knowing this was far more painful for them since Moriarty was the reason for John being as good as barren. 

“I want to.” John voiced, hating how his voice wavered. 

Sherlock said nothing else, but beneath the covers John felt the warmth of Sherlock’s hand take his own and hold fast. John turned his head to stare at Sherlock, his eyes softening, dampening over with emotions.

“With you, I can do this.” John murmured and Sherlock turned his head to meet John’s gaze then.

“You’ll always have me.” Sherlock whispered.

John was able to sleep then, his anxiousness dulled by Sherlock’s reassurance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John knew Sherlock. Knew he’d be himself regardless of his warnings, but it didn’t stop John from reprimanding Sherlock.

“What did I say?” John demanded of Sherlock. “I said, _don’t get clever_.”

“I can’t just turn it off and on like a tap.” The look Sherlock sent John wasn’t helping calm the omega’s agitation.

John could do nothing but sigh with frustration, letting go of his agitation with Sherlock because he knew Sherlock couldn’t help it. John was just anxious about the unknown verdict. Stopping his pacing in the hall to seat himself beside Sherlock outside of the court room as they discussed Moriarty’s end game, they weren’t prepared for the barrister that soon interrupted them.

“They’re coming back.” the barrister announced.

John stared on in shock. “That was six minutes.”

“I’m surprised it took them that long to be honest. There’s a queue for the ‘loo.”

Not guilty was the unanimous verdict. Not guilty. Moriarty was free to go. Moriarty, the man who’d killed their children. The man who’d almost taken John’s life was found not guilty for his crimes—though there was _clear_ footage of his break-in—Not guilty.

“Not guilty. They found him not guilty. No defense and Moriarty’s walked free. Sherlock, are you listening? He’s out. You know he’ll be coming after you.” John spoke, but Sherlock was losing himself to his thoughts. 

John felt an overwhelming weight press on his shoulders. They’d loss their chance—Moriarty was free and John felt lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Months Later

John was trying to move on, trying to get over the sense of loss after Moriarty’s trial and unbelievable release. Sherlock, unlike himself, seemed to be handling it well—taking it as another puzzle to be solved, but John didn’t care to help him solve this one. It was too painful for John, but he trusted Sherlock when he promised they’d get Moriarty. John knew though Sherlock lost his love for him, he cared for John, he cared for their pups that had been stolen from them, and that his hate for Moriarty would push him to capture the insane criminal mastermind.

John trusted Sherlock, but the overwhelming stress of everything grew more so when Mycroft called him and requested that they meet at his office. 

…

“…In fact four top international assassins relocated within spitting distance of 221B. Anything you care to share with me?”

“I’m moving?”

“It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?”

John knew what Mycroft was insinuating. “You think this is Moriarty?”

“He promised Sherlock he’d come back.”

He did. John knew this already, it was one of the many things he couldn’t help but worry over.

“If this was Moriarty we’d be dead already.”

“If not Moriarty, then who?”

“Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him? Oh god. Don’t tell me.”

“Too much history between us, John. Old scores, resentments.”

_Sibling rivalry_.

“Knicked all his Smurfs. Broke his Action Man.” John found amusement that Mycroft needed his assistance when in relation to Sherlock—no one could talk sense in the eccentric genius but John.

“We both know what’s coming, John. Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival.”

John sobered, knowing Mycroft was right. “So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.”

John didn’t need Mycroft asking him to, John would do everything in his power to protect Sherlock.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Mycroft’s eyes softened, knowing, though John never admitted it aloud, he loved Sherlock and was prepared to go through hell and back keeping Sherlock safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock mumbled, staring through the lenses of the microscope.

“Molly.” Molly interrupted.

“Yes.” Sherlock acknowledged his mistake.

“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead. No, sorry—”

“Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation. It’s really not your area.”

“When he was dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad.”

“Molly.” Sherlock sighed, exasperated; he couldn’t talk about meaningless things right now, his focus needed to be set on Moriarty, yet still John kept filling his mind. Sentiment was destroying him slowly.

“You look sad. When you think he can’t see you. Are you okay? Don’t just say you are, because I know what that means—looking sad when you think no one can see you.”

“You can see me.”

“I don’t count. What I’m trying to say is… if there’s anything I can do—anything you need, anything at all—you can have me. No, I just mean. I mean, if there’s anything you need, it’s fine.”

“What could I need from you?” Sherlock seriously couldn’t understand Molly.

“Nothing. I don’t know. You could probably say thank you, actually.”

“Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was their one year anniversary. John knew Sherlock wouldn’t realize this and when they’d woken in the morning and Sherlock left without so much as a reference to their anniversary, John wasn’t surprised. John wasn’t so upset by this, Sherlock’s mind was a jumbled mess as of late and he was noticeably worried about Moriarty.

Sherlock needed to let his thoughts calm, to let go of all the dangers out there and focus on something else—their anniversary was an excellent distraction. John also concluded that today would be the day they deepened their marital relationship. If John hadn’t gotten Sarah to prescribe him heat reducers, he’d also be setting into his heat right about now. That was something John didn’t think Sherlock was ready for and it was too much of a distraction when Moriarty lurked in the shadows. John didn’t want to be in heat if Moriarty were to show his face again. Sherlock learned of John’s choice for heat reducers soon after John had made an appointment and understood his reasoning.

As it were, John was now sexually capable and didn’t have to think about his heat for two weeks. John would at that point take another dose of heat reducers and every two weeks after until he was sure they could have their heat together. Heat reducers allowed them the ability to have sexual relations with each other, unlike the suppressants. John wanted to make love with Sherlock. Sex didn’t frighten him anymore and so there was no reason to start back up on the suppressants. 

Sherlock mentioned he’d be out till later that night so that gave John enough time to get his plans in order. Thirteen hours later, 10:00PM at night, John had successfully transformed their living room into a romantic scene. John moved the furniture around to make space for a decorative table with a red table cloth, a bouquet of red roses and two long candles being lit. He’d even gone as far as to scatter rose petals on the floor around the table and on Sherlock’s bed. Soft instrumental music set off the mood perfectly. John had even ordered take away from Angelo’s, some special chicken pasta Angelo recommended and John even asked Mrs. Holmes to have someone send over one of the wines she knew Sherlock enjoyed. 

Now all that there was left to do was wait for Sherlock’s return. Return he did, later, but not overly so, the pasta was temperate, but still well made and John really didn’t think food was the objective for tonight. Sherlock stepped foot into the home at 10:34PM with a look of surprise written clearly upon his face. John being dressed in his finest suit might have been equally surprising. 

“John?” Sherlock surveyed the room with a look of astonishment and slight confusion.

John smiled nervously and stepped before Sherlock, hesitating momentarily before wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist and leaning in close to his lips.

“Happy Anniversary.” John teased and pressed his lips to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth.

“Anniversary? _Oh!_ ” A light went off in Sherlock’s mind, suddenly understanding everything and then a look of regret crossed his features and he began apologizing. “John, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s alright. I understand you. I don’t need any presents or expressions of care, just…” John paused, glancing down and staring at Sherlock’s chest whilst the man inhaled softly and exhaled, before raising his gaze once more.

“I wish for the only gift to be given is the touch and care you posses, tonight…in consummation of our union.” 

John watched understanding flicker in sea green depths and Sherlock’s tense form relax before he gifted John with a soft smile.

“If you feel that it is time… I am more than willing.” 

“Good… Now, I brought us Angelo’s and a wine I think you will find most agreeable.”

“John… I do believe you are a gentleman tonight. Good heavens what would Mycroft say!” Sherlock smirked.

“I care not for Mycroft’s thoughts, only yours, dear husband.” John easily flirted and grinned toothily when Sherlock blushed ever so slightly.

“A gentleman indeed.” Sherlock husked, his smile never wavering as he leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “Then let us feast upon this bounty set before us.”

The meal was wonderful and John promised himself to ask Angelo again just what the name of this particular pasta was, because he knew it was now one of his favorites. Sherlock indulged more in his consumption of the wine rather than the food, and it was fine with John, because he knew Sherlock had a smaller appetite than most. He only asked that Sherlock eat enough as to not fill his empty stomach with just wine. 

They spoke for a length about everything that really mattered, but John was sure to stay clear of anything in relation to Moriarty, and thankfully Sherlock didn’t want to speak on that matter either. When they’d finished their dinner, John encouraged Sherlock to shower and ready himself for bed while John took the time to clean up. It took far longer that John anticipated, and after he’d finished up, he made quick work with showering and readying himself for bed as well. 

When John at last entered Sherlock’s room, it was to Sherlock sitting at the foot of the bed, the rose petals remained, and one lay in his husband’s hand. The consultant fondly stroking at the soft petal in fascination of it and John smiled.

“Sherlock.” John called, rousing his husband from his contemplations as he looked up into John’s eyes. “Are you sure you are ready for this?”

“Really John. It’s not like this will be our first time.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave John a peculiar look. 

John said nothing, feeling no need to mention the slight tremble of Sherlock’s hands the moment he’d realized John was there and the time was upon them. Instead, John seated himself beside Sherlock and smiled up at him. The two stared at one another as the moments ticked by.

John waited for Sherlock to make the first move. 

Sherlock waited for John to make the first move.

As the time lengthened John began to worry if this was really what Sherlock wanted and began to repeat his question from earlier.

“Are you—” John stopped speaking when Sherlock sighed obnoxiously.

“Yes, now close your eyes.” Sherlock commanded and John did, tensing slightly with nerves.

“Push yourself back to the center of the bed.” Sherlock ordered once more and John did as he was told, stumbling slightly within the darkness of his shut eyes.

When John laid his head to the pillow, he heard the rustling of clothing and realized only then, Sherlock was removing his clothing.

“Sherlock.” John whispered anxiously, his body pulsed with nerves, and yet there was also excitement within that started as a flame and steadily grew. 

Large delicate hands brushed along his hips and John gasped keenly when fingers hooked over the waistband of his slacks and pants. With one solid motion Sherlock dragged them down. John wordlessly lifted his hips to assist in their removal and shortly after heard his clothes fall to the side of the bed.

“Your shirt.” Sherlock elaborated.

John didn’t need further explanation and sat himself up momentarily to remove the shirt on his own before throwing them in one direction, hearing it smack into something—the wall before it fell to the ground.

“Lay back down.” 

John laid himself entirely naked on the bed and focused on his other senses. He scented when Sherlock pulled away and heard his soft feet pad along the floor. He heard the opening of a drawer, and noticed the strengthening of Sherlock’s scent as he neared the bed. He felt the dip of the bed as Sherlock sat himself on it once more. Sherlock moved slowly to lay himself beside John on the bed and John nervously awaited what was to follow. 

“You’re doing so well.” Sherlock praised and John let out a shuddering exhale, his body responding so keenly to Sherlock’s voice, his cock twitching slightly, still soft, but growing ever more interested in where his alpha was leading them.

“You’d do anything I asked of you, wouldn’t you?” Sherlock admired, voice thick, aroused by the thought.

John wasn’t sure how he’d sound if he spoke then, his body trembled much like Sherlock’s hands had and he knew his voice would do much the same. Instead he hummed in agreement—even when humming he sounded wrecked.

“Such a sweet omega.”

“Mm.” John erratically hummed.

“Do you want my touch?”

“Mm.”

“What of my lips?” Sherlock growled directly into John’s sensitive left ear.

“Sher...” John shuddered violently at the thought of Sherlock leaning in and pressing their lips together.

“Rise up and spread your legs for me.” Sherlock graveled.

John bit his bottom lip, holding back a moan, Sherlock’s voice was pure sex and the proof was his steadily hardening stout cock. John raised his legs, knees bent and then he spread them, pressing the heels of his feet to the mattress, leaving himself completely open. John didn’t dare open his eyes for fear of looking at himself and then seeing just how Sherlock looked. 

Sherlock blew a trail of hot air from John’s ear along his jaw line, neck, and then the breath stilled and a soft rose petal glided against his inner left thigh. The trail led up, higher still, nearing the crease of his leg and genitals. John groaned long and loud, unashamed when that delicately soft rose petal circled his bollocks, a finger pressed on the opposite end of the petal applying more weight as it rolled his balls, moving them to its will. 

“ _Sherlock._ ”

John felt as if he would die from the pleasure that was building, filling him so completely he’d die from the sensory overload. Pleasure was a formidable weapon.

“Just look at you. You’re completely hard and we haven’t even started yet.”

“Mnugh.” John garbled, only realizing he’d lost his words to ecstasy as Sherlock’s petal laced finger stroked up and over his weeping cock.

“The noises you make… God, John. Only for me.”

“ _Mmmhhhmm!_ ” John whimpered, fingers fisting the bed sheets and petals under him.

_Only for you. You forever. No one else._

John’s mouth slackened as the petal drew circles along the crown, over and over, delicately, again and again, one, two, three, four, five…

Thirty one…

Sixty three…

“Mmm!” John panted, precum generously trickling out, the spout of his cock an angry red—he didn’t have to see it to feel the blood flowing and setting his skin on fire.

Eighty eight… Eighty nine… Ninety…

“Sher! Oh! Oh, Sherlock!” John whined, biting savagely against his bottom lip.

“Open your eyes John. Open them.”

John’s eyes snapped open and stared directly up into the burning red face of his shy husband giving him the greatest pleasure he’d yet to feel. Sherlock’s eyes were innocent, timid, and full of want. John keened another garbled mess of nonexistent words, voicing his want and warning of having too much. A hand rose up to fist through the mess of dark curls before him and John yanked Sherlock’s face close, panting into his mouth, eyes widening with the edging of orgasm.

A shrill whimper broke from John as Sherlock’s petal finger stroked him on one hundred and twenty. He came, spurting hot white seed all over them both. John sobbed from the devastatingly powerful orgasm that coursed through him. Soft, supple lips collided with his own and John’s mouth opened on a keen, growing all the more needing and pitiful when Sherlock’s heated tongue glided through and ensnared his in an ardent kiss. John panting shakily through it, his little mewls of need drowning in Sherlock’s mouth. Seeking comfort, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and brought him close to his chest. Embracing his mate full of love, John broke their kiss to press his nose in Sherlock’s hair and whined helplessly, his vicious grip had yet to abate.

All the while John calmed from his powerful orgasm, Sherlock spoke, and slowly John began to understand his words.

“John, you were so good. You did so well.” 

John smiled dreamily, nuzzling the dark hair near his husband’s ear and inhaling the sweetness of Sherlock’s expensive shampoo, at last allowing Sherlock to pull back enough to stare down into his gleaming eyes.

Sherlock’s face was pleasantly flushed and John knew though he’d handled John extremely well, sex was still a new thing for them. John wanted this though and, glancing down below and to the monstrous alpha cock pressing up firmly against Sherlock’s abdomen, John knew Sherlock wanted this just as much.

There was a liberal amount of purely white precum glazing over the head of Sherlock’s cock and John very much wanted to taste. Never had John done so, and it was a rather strange thing that he had yet to taste his husband. One of the many sexual acts an omega was to partake in was the tasting of their alpha, but John had always felt reserved in this matter. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it, but that… he’d never felt confident enough to. 

Sherlock, an alpha, was never to take part in such a sexual act. Alphas didn’t taste their omegas in _that_ way, but then again, Sherlock had never been the typical alpha. Sherlock had gifted John with tasting several times in fact. Was it so wrong for John to want to do the same?

“John.” There was a smile in Sherlock’s call of his name and when John stopped looking at the pleasingly fat cock and met his alpha’s gaze once more, it was to the sight of amusement.

“Sorry.” John blushed hotly; sweat lining his brow from their previous activity. 

John pressed his hands against Sherlock’s bare chest, running his fingers through the sparse chest hair and hummed, wanting. 

“I want… I want to…” John couldn’t say it. Sex… It was such a very new thing for them and talking about the lewd desires swimming in his mind was far too much for John.

“Hmm?” Sherlock nosed John’s brow, scenting him further, though there was no need for it. John already smelled of Sherlock, and now their combined scents were strengthening with the progression of the sexual relations with one another. 

“Lay… lay back.” John encouragingly pushed Sherlock over onto his back until he lay himself compliantly awaiting whatever his intentions were.

“John.” Sherlock’s eyes turned half-lidded when John straddled Sherlock’s thighs and leaned over him, his hands pressing just under Sherlock’s arms, using the bed to support himself as he kneeled down to bring his mouth near Sherlock’s own.

John hesitated in kissing Sherlock just yet, pausing to capture Sherlock’s calculating gaze and then… only then did he press their lips together. Sucking up Sherlock’s top lip all while Sherlock took John’s bottom into his mouth. John nibbled against Sherlock’s Cupid ’s bow after a delicate suck and then took Sherlock’s bottom lip to give it the same attention. He did this all while keeping Sherlock’s gaze. Sherlock lightly kissed John’s upper lip before John broke the kiss.

“I… I want to…” John sat up straight and bit his tongue as he was still unable to voice his desire.

“What, John? What do you want?” Sherlock asked.

John shut his eyes, inhaled deeply before exhaling shakily, and cursed himself. He couldn’t say it and did it really matter, he could just… but if he did, then Sherlock would look at him while he… and it was so embarrassing to be watched and judged and he knew he’d be horrible at it, but he wanted to try. 

“Close your eyes.” John opened his own to be sure Sherlock followed through with his request.

Sherlock met John’s gaze briefly, smiled softly in return as his eyes slid closed and remained so.

John would practice and learn, he’d get better, and when he was sure he could look at Sherlock while performing, he’d…

John crawled off Sherlock and began rearranging Sherlock into the position he thought best. John ordered Sherlock to scoot back further, until Sherlock’s back pressed up against the pillows resting along the headboard of the bed. Then, John touched Sherlock’s knees and gently parted them, pushing them up so that the heels of Sherlock’s feet pressed against the mattress, John shuffled himself between them and lay on his stomach, his head close to Sherlock’s blazing hot cock. 

As John shifted his left knee up, he knocked it into something and glanced at his side to find the lubricant Sherlock must have retrieved from the dresser earlier. John smiled and pulled it closer to himself—he’d use it soon enough.

John stared at Sherlock’s genitals nervously, not sure where to start. Maybe he was thinking too much. Sex was something that differed from one person to another. John didn’t much like classifying this as sex, though it was, he felt it was more than that. This might not be making love to Sherlock, but this was definitely love making to John. If John’s affections, care, and gentleness were felt by Sherlock, it could prove more pleasurable for the alpha. John hoped his affections were noticeable and well received, but if John didn’t do something soon Sherlock was sure to lose his patience.

“John.” Sherlock called, uncertainty in his voice, eyes still shut, though his hands reached out above where John’s head was, seeming to try and find him in the blindness of his closed eyes. 

John raised his hand up and took hold of Sherlock’s left hand, lowering it to rest over his own head and Sherlock’s once tensed features relaxed. John was horrible. He’d left Sherlock in a rather vulnerable position for an alpha and that wasn’t right.

“Sorry, I’m just…”

“Nervous.” Sherlock smiled kindly, his other hand moving to join his left in threading in John’s hair. 

“If you want I could—”

“No.” John cut Sherlock’s words off before he could say them. He’d let Sherlock give so much in this aspect as well as many other parts of their relationship. John wanted to give back to Sherlock now.

“I can—fuck it, I’ll just—”

“ _John!_ ” Sherlock cried out, his body jerking with surprise the moment John dove forward and took Sherlock’s bollocks in his mouth and sucked them reverently.

John’s face was so hot now, his body trembling with nerves, Sherlock’s fingers gripping his hair unkindly, but then Sherlock keened a pitchy cry as John released one ball and sucked harder on the other, tugging at it playfully. John felt Sherlock shudder around him, his arms wrapping around Sherlock’s legs as the alpha’s inner thighs pressing against the side of his head. John released one reddened ball to take back the other in his mouth and do the same thing to it.

Sherlock arched forward, seating himself up fully then, bowing low over John, panting hotly over him. John released Sherlock and raised his head up, facing Sherlock’s chest and staring up at Sherlock’s closed eyes. Sherlock was so close to him, bending himself into a tight ball, all Sherlock needed to do was lower his head just slightly and he could kiss John.

“John.” Sherlock breathed through closed eyes, seeming to realize that John was close, his grip on John’s hair vice-like.

“Shhh.” John soothed, turning and nuzzling the base of Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock’s cock felt hot to the touch, it was a beautiful red, and twitched with its plea and John wanted to answer Sherlock’s needs. Laving wetly along the lengthy shaft, John craned his neck and pressed his forehead against Sherlock’s stomach all while mouthing the wet crown of his husband’s gorgeous erection.

Sherlock moaned painfully, half hurt, half bliss, it felt like too much pleasure, and sometimes an overwhelming amount of pleasure could equally be painful, because things weren’t supposed to feel this good. John understood. It was how John felt every time Sherlock touched him. John’s nerves vanished the more needing and pleading Sherlock became. John sloppily sucked in more of Sherlock; unwinding one arm from Sherlock’s leg to stroke three quarters of Sherlock’s cock, John could not take in his mouth. 

“Oh— _Ooh!_ ” Sherlock shakily mewled, shuddering uncontrollably, one hand releasing John’s arm to grasp at John’s lower back, griping and pinching painfully at the muscles and skin to hold onto to something all while tugging himself closer and curling himself firmly around John’s head and back.

All John could feel as he swallowed Sherlock’s hot come and jacked him off with fervor was more and more of Sherlock’s skin cocoon him. Sherlock’s legs cradled the sides of his head. Sherlock’s stomach and chest pressed smoothly over John’s forehead and upper back. He could scarcely breathe and it was scary, and it was exciting, and it was heartwarmingly tender, because even in the pleasure that John was giving, Sherlock wanted to hold John desperately. 

_I love you._ John whimpered, hugging one of Sherlock’s legs, and pressing it closer to his head as he tongued the underside of Sherlock’s cock, grooving over it with the roughness of his tongue.

“ _Oh_ … Yes, I believe I’m—I’m—I’m— _Ooh!_ ” Sherlock’s human nails dug into the flesh of John’s back, his fingers looped in blond hair snagged painfully. Sherlock cried, completely enraptured by the powerful orgasm that erupted from out of him.

John coughed on the seed that spurted hot and readily into his throat, coughing harder and gagging when Sherlock bucked and more come came, shooting out, more and more—too much.

John wiggled in the mess of Sherlock’s limbs and thankfully Sherlock was so overcome he released John to fall back against the bed a pile of jittering goop, moaning happily, smiling like a complete loon. John couldn’t help but smile down on as he wiped the mess of saliva and seed from his mouth and chin.

John grabbed the bottle of lubricant, placing it between their bodies as John laid himself at Sherlock’s side. John rested his head on a pillow and stared smugly at Sherlock. He did that to, _The Sherlock Holmes_. John noticed the bits of release that he managed to cough up mid suck and scooped it all up in his hand and licked at it. Sherlock tasted salty, but yet there was sweetness to it, and John found he rather liked the taste of Sherlock. He most certainly would be doing that again.

“Oh John.” Sherlock said and John noticed Sherlock’s eyes were still closed.

“Open your eyes Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s soft sea green stared at John full of sentiment and John wasn’t sure if love was a part of those emotions, but he hoped it was. 

“Happy anniversary.” John murmured, before pressing his lips upon the dazed Sherlock’s.

“I can taste myself on your lips.” Sherlock spoke faintly; the shyness in the smile that he gave John melted the omega’s already mushy heart.

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized.” John teased, reminded of Sherlock’s reaction at that French restaurant not so long ago.

Sherlock brightened then and John kissed Sherlock again. Sherlock’s hand rose to cup John’s cheek, bringing him closer, and parted his lips in invitation for John to deepen it. John did, his tongue sliding out and rolling playfully along Sherlock’s, running over the smoothness of Sherlock’s heated tongue and sharing the taste of hot release with him.

“Naughty.” Sherlock rumbled against John’s mouth, nipping at his lips with insistency. 

“I’m not the one who… with a rose petal.” John taunted back weakly, far more embarrassed with speaking about it.

“I seem to recall you enjoyed it.” 

“Only because…” John stopped himself, shutting his eyes, breathing erratically as Sherlock continuously nipped and sucked at his lips, making it hard to talk, much less think.

“Yes?” Sherlock led.

“…because… it was you.”

Sherlock stopped his teasing caressing of lips and instead wrapped his arms around John’s waist to reel him in.

“Such a naughty mouth.”

“I didn’t say anything…”

“Yes you did. You say naughty things.”

John’s nose scrunched up, his cock already having taken attention mid-tasting of Sherlock had hardened completely when Sherlock said—

“Stop saying that word.”

“What word?” Sherlock’s lips grazed the shell of John’s ear and John bit back the whimper that wanted so much to be released—damn his omega side, he wasn’t going to let Sherlock trick his omega into keening like a wanton bitch in heat.

“You _know—ah!_ ” John gasped startled when a hot tongue rolled along the shell of his ear and teeth grazed the lobe, before Sherlock was fervently sucking at it.

“ _Naughty_?” Sherlock pondered.

“Sherlock.” John blindly reached out and clasped tightly to Sherlock’s hip.

“ _Naughty_.” Sherlock breathlessly whispered in John’s sensitive right ear.

“Mmm—Sherlock.” John pled, shivering with want, his cock pulsing and swelled.

“My _naughty_ mate is hard already.” Sherlock growled, a hand moving to circle over John’s abdomen and moving lower still.

“What would you like? My _naughty_ mate.”

“You… You inside… inside…” John clutched Sherlock’s hip firmly and groaned, “Don’t make me say it.”

Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s lips and spoke, tickling him as he did, “Okay. I’m sure I can surmise what it is.”

John almost felt relieved by this, but then Sherlock had to add amusedly, “You want me inside of you, don’t you? You want me to be the alpha to your omega. You want to be claimed and strengthen our bond, don’t you John? Say yes, John, tell me just how much you want it?”

John gritted through clenched teeth his wants and needs, knowing Sherlock wanted to hear it, and as long as he didn’t have to physically describe it as Sherlock _clearly_ had, John could say, “Yes, I want all of those things. I want it very much.”

“Good.” Sherlock kissed John’s ear, and John wanted to curse him, but then Sherlock was rolling John over and John opened his eyes to watch Sherlock pull back and grab the bottle of lubricant.

_Oh God. This was it. This was happening. Sherlock was going to… and he wasn’t in heat, this wasn’t shady ground. This was of their wants and their conscious decision to take action._

Sherlock uncapped the bottle as John shuffled further up the bed and gripped the sheets of the bed while spreading his legs, allowing Sherlock to kneel between them. Legs open, parted generously, revealing himself completely, John worried his bottom lip nervously. 

John watched mutedly as Sherlock squirted a generous amount of lubricant into his palm. His mouth parted on a voiceless gasp when Sherlock fisted himself and stroked his half erect cock. John’s hand shot down to grip himself, moaning longingly, feeling so very ready and watching Sherlock stroking himself to full hardness was just too much.

“John, you’re... Oh.” Sherlock huffed, the tips of his fingers fiddling with the head of his cock and John couldn’t stop himself from mimicking the motion on himself. He threw his head back and moaned out a cry, the warm build of satisfaction growing in his lower region as he fondled the crown of his cock. Staring over the expanse of his glistening with sweat chest and into Sherlock’s smoldering eyes, John shuddered with the trills of sexual enjoyment, and brazenly lowering his gaze to watch Sherlock masturbate himself. 

“Please.” John was begging now, slowly dragging his thumb along the slit of his cock, catching the droplets of cum sticking to his spout and stroking it over his crown, smearing it lovingly, following Sherlock’s example. “You’re hard enough, please. No more waiting. I need you.”

Sherlock nodded unsteadily, releasing himself and grabbing the bottle to squirt more lubrication, this time on his fingers, before setting the bottle on the mattress and shifting closer to John.

_Yes._ John happily thought, bringing his legs in closer, bending them tight, his heels nearing his backside and lifted his pelvis helpfully, complete spread out and ready.

Sherlock swallowed audibly and pressed his knees near John’s ankles. The tip of one of his fingers pressed at his opening. John groaned contentedly when Sherlock inserted one long digit within, easily. John shut his eyes and enjoyed the feel of Sherlock’s finger moving slowly in and out. When another finger joined the first, John inhaled a slow breath, will his body to accept it with just as much ease as he’d accepted the first.

There was pressure, a tightness there, but it wasn’t painful—different, a little unsettling with the unaccustomed fullness of it all, but not painful. Sherlock spent more time familiarizing John with the fullness—John wasn’t in heat, this was different, and his body wasn’t willingly opening for breeding like it would during heat.

John smiled up at the sheer concentration marring the beautiful face of his Sherlock, “More, Sher… I can take it.”

Sherlock met John’s eyes as he added a third finger and John hummed in delight, “I feel you… It feels… I missed this.” John confessed and Sherlock’s features softened, kindness in those sea green eyes.

Sherlock’s fingers sunk in deep, twisted, curved upward and hooked on something, pressed firmly against it. In the next moment John was moaning long and full. That was it; the place that made everything spin and his body blaze with want and shiver with goodness. 

“Sherlock.” John hissed zealously.

Sherlock rubbed harder and John’s eyes squeezed shut, his body tensing, toes curling, and hips rocking against a large hand, chasing that feeling, never wanting to let it go.

“I—Brilliant. You… So…” John choked, cock jolting, lower belly roiling with the warning of near completion and John immediately became rigid, “ _Wait_.”

Sherlock stilled at once, brows furrowing, worry clearly etched in the creases of his eyes.

“No, not that.” John soothed, wrapping his hand around the wrist of Sherlock’s hand within him, his thumb lovingly stroking at Sherlock’s inner wrist. “I’m about to... I… please.”

John couldn’t say it, ask Sherlock to get inside of him, but Sherlock understood and carefully removed his fingers from out of John.

“Come here.” John called softly, open arms outstretched for Sherlock who willingly lowerd himself over John and slowly pressed his full weight into him, until Sherlock lay over John like another layer of flesh of warmth.

“Please. So long I’ve needed.”

Sherlock hummed with acquiescence and then his shoulder pressed uncomfortably into John’s own, thankfully not his left, but Sherlock knew better than that, and it was only briefly, so that Sherlock could guide the head of his cock to John’s opening. Then the pressure at John’s shoulder was gone, and instead he felt the head of Sherlock hot cock nudging past his rim and steadily moving in deeper.

“Yes.” John sighed lovingly, staring into the bright eyes of his mate.

Sherlock’s arms dipped under John’s, John’s wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders and brought him in close.

“Kiss me.” John whispered, overcome by the feeling of Sherlock’s hips dragging as he entered him further. 

Sherlock did. They kissed slow, wet, and full of the feelings neither had yet to express, but it feels like love. A kiss of love is the most beautiful of any. True John had kissed no one but Sherlock, but John didn’t have to. He knew this was the taste of love; nothing else could set his heart ablaze or cause him more joy.

Sherlock rocked into John, fully entered and then slowly drew back, then slid gently in again and it was more than wonderful. Sherlock languidly glided along the magnificent place within, sending zinging waves of ecstasy to augment. There was pleasure, a slow burning that grew, that strengthened and consumed. Their breathing intensified with the feelings coursing through them, the strengthening of their bond. John’s omega needed and he willingly gave, letting it out and the warmth in his chest pulsed and John knew then that Sherlock could feel his omega’s call through the bond. Sherlock growled; his alpha’s possessiveness came to the forefront as Sherlock nipped and his fangs pinched at his lips, but never did they cut him. Sherlock’s alpha was too caring to hurt John and his omega keened, his plea filled the room.

John felt Sherlock’s knot, it grew steadily, and pressed his inner walls, closing around him, sealed them together and John knew Sherlock was close, so close. John unwound one arm from around Sherlock to take hold of himself and was immediately joined by Sherlock’s own hand. Their fingers threaded together while their thumbs worked as one, after every upward tug they rubbed the glistening head of John’s cock before stroking back down. 

“John, I'm— _Oh God_. I'm going to... to... I—” Sherlock whimpered against John’s lips. 

“It’s okay. I’m close. I'm almost... almost there. Come on, Sherlock.” John warmly urged, hugging Sherlock close with one arm while their joined hands worked on bringing him off.

Sherlock shuddered and then his hips came to a halt, hot release filling John within and three strokes of their joined hands had John coming with a sharp inhale of breath. John’s free hand glided over the soft undertones of Sherlock’s muscular back, his lips pressing from the corner of Sherlock’s mouth to the side of his neck. 

The dampness of John’s release covered their hands; Sherlock’s hand remained laced with John’s as he raised them up. John pulled away enough to watch Sherlock who then proceeded to lick their fingers clean.

John smiled through his blush and when Sherlock raised a dark brow in question John couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“ _Naughty_.” 

Sherlock’s brows raised higher, his lips pursed and for a moment the two stared at one another. John trying hard to hide his smile, but then Sherlock snorted with hilarity and then the two were giggling, choking past their laughter, staring at one another with such warmth—the arctic could melt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John felt as if his world was crumbling, bit by bit. The press was turning on Sherlock. New Scotland Yard’s were growing suspicious about Sherlock. The world thought his brilliant Sherlock was a fraud and Sherlock began questioning John’s loyalty. John refused to believe the stories, believe Moriarty was the victim, because he knew Sherlock.

John didn’t care that they were now hiding out from New Scotland Yard’s, and that the world turned on them, because Sherlock needed him and John would be there for him. 

John was taking each problem as it came, but when he realized Mycroft’s part in it all. That Mycroft had apprehended Moriarty months before the trial and after giving the mad man information on Sherlock’s past he’d let him go, he was beyond angry. John never liked Mycroft, but he’d trusted that Mycroft’s main interest was caring for Sherlock, but if that was the case why let Moriarty go after knowing all he’d done?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John figured it out too late. Too late did he realize Sherlock purposefully pushed him away, using John’s anger as a distraction, enough so to give him the opportunity to handle Moriarty alone.

As John exited the cab and his cell rang, he hurriedly answered.

“Sherlock, are you okay?”

“Turn around and walk back the way you came.”

“No, I’m coming in.” John didn’t care for Sherlock’s protection. Sherlock was everything to John and he’d never leave his side.

“Just. Do as I ask. Please.”

“Where?”

“Stop there.”

“Sherlock.”

“Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.”

“Oh god.”

“I can’t come down so we’ll just have to do it like this.”

“What’s going on?”

“An apology. It’s all true.”

“What?”

“Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“I’m a fake.” Sherlock choked out through sentiment and John’s omega coiled inward, affected by the sorrow in his alpha’s voice.

“Sherlock—” John found it hard to breathe, Sherlock was in pain, the world was destroying his husband, Moriarty was destroying his husband, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you. That I created Moriarty for my own purposes.”

“Okay, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. You…you knew all about my sister, right?”

“Nobody could be that clever.”

“You could.”

“I researched you, before we met. I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It’s a trick. It’s just a magic trick.”

“No. Alright, stop it now.” John didn’t believe that. He couldn’t. He’d worked beside Sherlock this whole time; he saw how he deduced people and cases time and time again. John was going up there and he’d talk Sherlock straight.

“No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.”

“Alright.” John stilled, Sherlock’s desperation hindering him in his movements.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“This phone call, it’s… it’s my note. That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note.”

“Leave a note when?” John’s omega whimpered within, his mind turning quickly, attempting to understand, though a part of him feared he knew. He’d once written his own note with this hospital in mind.

“Goodbye, John.” There was finality in Sherlock’s voice and John’s heart throbbed painfully. Sherlock’s couldn’t. 

“No. Don’t—” John watched Sherlock pull the phone away. John stared pleadingly up at his husband, knowing he’d never make it in time. Then Sherlock hung up and threw the phone back.

“No.” John whimpered brokenly. “SHERLOCK!” John screamed and could do nothing but watch helplessly as the man he’d been arranged to marry, the man he’d sworn to hate, but now loved with all his being… his beautiful Sherlock spread his arms and leaped from the building.

…

John wasn’t particularly close to the hospital, but near enough—close enough to hear the sickening crunch of a body slam into the hard cemented ground. That body—that brilliant mind… his only love…

John struggled to breathe, gasping sharply as he moved mutely to the location in which he knew would lay his broken Sherlock. There might still be hope. Sherlock was a strong alpha. John was a doctor and they were in front of the hospital.

John didn’t see the bicyclist as he zipped by and clipped him, causing him to slam hard into the ground—though not as hard as… “Sherlock… Sherlock…”

John blinked past the pain and disorienting knock to the head to rise and near the large cluster of people circling his mate’s frail form. They wouldn’t let him near, they wouldn’t let him close enough to touch Sherlock, but John kept pushing his way through them, wheezing out an explanation as to why it was terribly important he was allowed through.

“I’m a doctor. Let me come through. Let me come through, please. No, he’s my husband. He’s my husband. Please.”

They weren’t listening, they weren’t letting him through, but then he looked over a nurse’s shoulder and saw.

Sherlock… His beautiful, kind, gentle Sherlock lay motionless on the ground. A large pool of blood haloing his head—too much blood—possibly all his blood which meant…

John pressed his weight into the people pushing him back and lowered himself close enough to reach out and take hold of a limp pale wrist. He struggled to find a pulse, but he held it properly and there was no beating of a pulse.

John felt near passing out and when a doctor rolled Sherlock’s body over onto his back, John knew there was no saving what was already lost. He stared down into the lifeless eyes of Sherlock’s—so pure in their shade of blue, demonstrating the intensity of lightning and John felt a stab at his heart, because they were absent of comprehension. 

“Oh Jesus, no. God, no.” John slurred, the world spinning around him, his omega’s screams vibrating through his whole body, his heart constricting to the point of palpitations, he was going through the shock an omega only went through at the loss of their alpha. If he didn’t get help soon, he’d die of the stress.

The nurses holding him seemed to realize this, his scent intensifying enough so they realized he was an omega in distress. Everything began darkening around him, and yet, even as the world faded from his view, the deathly pale face of Sherlock, streaked with blood haunted him in darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The stuff that you wanted to say. But didn’t say it…” Ella softly opened.

“Yeah.” John choked beyond a voiceless sob.

“Say it now.”

John sent Ella a look. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even when faced with Sherlock’s imminent suicide, he…

John waved his hand in a gesture that said as much and shook his head. He couldn’t and now Sherlock would never know.

_I should have told you… Maybe if I had… Maybe you would have stayed._

  



	33. Chapter 33

John was surrounded by four walls, padded, colored soft lavender. The light above held a warm orange glow, not excessively bright. It couldn’t be, less they wished to cause his omega distress. Too much visual stimulation would put John at risk of another omega drop. There was no sound. The silence was almost deadening. Too much sound would send John on another omega drop. No alpha was to tend to him, any scent but a beta… Yet again, a way to ensure he didn’t have another omega drop.

No visitors. Only beta nurses were allowed within his room. They checked on his health, they brought his meals, and they were the ones to sedate him when he grew hysterical in his grief.

John sat in the middle of his bed, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up close to his chest. Resting his head onto his knees and hugging his legs, he stared blankly at the wall. His tired eyes stung each time he blinked them—three days without sleep and continuously crying would do that to a person.

“Will you not eat?” a nurse asked of him later that evening.

John turned away to stare in the other direction, not wishing to speak. He couldn’t even remember the last time he ate a real meal. He could, however, remember the last feeding tube they’d attached to him, three days ago.

“It gets better. I promise you.” The soft words of his male nurse filled the room, but did nothing to soothe the pain within.

“It gets better for betas… It gets better for alphas… It does not get better for omegas.” John answered listlessly.

Betas survived the death of their mate with little pain as they could never truly bond with an alpha. Much could be said about their counterpart alphas.

Alphas mated to omegas survived the death of their mate with pain in their hearts that never diminished.

An omega could not survive the death of their alpha.

The longest an omega ever lived after the death of their mate was two and a half years, and that was only because that omega had been sent to an omega oasis/hospice. John hadn’t yet been sent there, but if he didn’t get better soon, he was sure that was where he’d end up. No. Currently he was being held in an omega sanatorium that specialized in the care of omegas on the verge of drops. 

An omega drop was a serious matter. When an omega was in distress, when an omega was at their weakest, they’d experience a drop—a state of delirium, violence, and if they didn’t seek help immediately they’d die. These drops were usually after experiencing trauma or the death of their mate. 

John shut his eyes as he heard the nurse move and knock on the small blackened window of the door. It opened a moment later and he exited John’s room. The nurse would be back, John knew he’d bring a tray of food in the next hour and if John still refused to eat, he’d be sedated and forced to endure another feeding from a tube.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty five pounds… John had lost twenty five pounds and he looked sickly, skin a pasty color, dark bags under his eyes, but John was finally allowed to leave the hospital. Under strict conditions Mycroft would be sure to implement immediately. That morning, as John waited to be discharged, Mycroft had come to see him. John didn’t want to talk to Mycroft, and he hadn’t said a word to the somber alpha, only listened as Mycroft told him he’d contacted Gregory Lestrade and asked it of him to move in to 221B and keep watch over him.

John wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t; he didn’t want to talk to Mycroft and he knew him well enough to know the other option if he refused. It was either Lestrade moved in or John moved back to Sherrinford, regardless of his wishes, John wasn’t going to be left alone for a long time. John could do nothing more than to bear it; having Lestrade living with him would be strange and somewhat painful, what with the smell of an alpha in his home and being reminded of the missing scent of his… It would be hard. 

Still, it wasn’t as bad as being at Sherrinford where he was sure to have Mrs. Holmes mothering him too much for his comfort. Lestrade was a busy man, so the only times John would have to see him was late at night or on his days off. While Lestrade was away, Mrs. Hudson would be there to watch over him as well. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were by far the best of choices and John accepted this.

John gave up being a doctor—what use was there in working. 

Once he returned to 221B, John shucked his bags at his sides and locked the door before weakly making his way to… to the room that smelled the most… the most like… _him_. Lying across the mattress, John buried his head in _his_ pillow, and bleated a pitiful whimper, nuzzling it with sorrow and dampening it with tears. He breathed shakily into the pillow, muffling the pleading whimpers for comfort, for those lanky arms to wrap around him and squeeze him tight. John wasn’t sure when, but sometime after, he’d fallen asleep. 

It was later that evening when Mrs. Hudson came with dinner made and waiting for him in the kitchen. She knew better than to enter the room where John dwelled. An omega wasn’t territorial with most things, but they were most certainly territorial with their pups and with their alpha’s—John… had no alpha, but he still had their den and that was off limits. 

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door and asked John to come out to have dinner. John didn’t care to eat, but he wanted to see Mrs. Hudson. He’d only had one visitor when in hospital and that was Mycroft. Mycroft had been remorseful and he should be; John blamed Mycroft for… what happened to his mate. 

John weakly shuffled out of bed and staggered out of the room to meet Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen; she was seated down, having set the table for two and prepared them a chicken stew of sorts. At the sight of him, Mrs. Hudson broke into immediate tears.

“Dear...” Mrs. Hudson blubbered, rising from her chair and bringing John in close, embracing him warmly. “You look awful.”

John felt his heart pulse painfully, Mrs. Hudson was always honest, and right now, it was nice to have. John burrowed his face in Mrs. Hudson’s neck, scenting her. She smelled of ginger.

“You don’t have to say anything dear. I’m here. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

John knew Mrs. Hudson would and willingly allowed her to lead him to the table and, not wishing to upset her more, John decided for Mrs. Hudson he could eat some. He ate half his bowl and it seemed enough to please Mrs. Hudson.

“I…” John managed to rasp out, voice rough from disuse. “I… missed it, Mrs. Hudson.”

John had been in hospital for three weeks and he’d missed his own husband’s…

“It’s alright dear. It was understandable. You had to care for yourself.” Mrs. Hudson rubbed a hand over John’s back comfortingly. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

John didn’t know if he could go on his own, but with Mrs. Hudson he felt like he could, and weakly nodded his head in agreement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John stood beside Mrs. Hudson staring down at the grave of… his sweet husband.

“I’m angry.” John choked out and Mrs. Hudson hugged John’s arm. 

“It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that, that’s the way he made everyone feel. All the marks on my table and the noise, firing guns off at one in the morning.”

“Yeah.” John rasped staring down to the ground trying hard not to cry all over again, because he couldn’t, not in front of Mrs. Hudson—it would break her heart.

“Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine! Keeping bodies where there’s food. And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings on!”

“Yeah, listen... I’m not actually that angry, okay?” John attempted to reign in Mrs. Hudson as she lost herself to her frustrations. 

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone to… you know.” Mrs. Hudson could sense John wanted a moment alone and he was thankful for this.

John watched as Mrs. Hudson walked off and when he was sure he was alone, he took another step closer to the… to his… _God, this was hard._

 

“Um. Hm.” John swallowed back the tears, the whimper that wanted to be released, and the pain of knowing he’d failed. 

“You… you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Um. There were times that I didn’t even think you were human. But let me tell you this… you were the best man and the most human…”

John’s eyes were beginning to water no matter how he tried to stop them from doing so.

“…human being that I have ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. And so… there... I was so alone and I owe you so much.”

John pulled back, turning to leave then, but paused, because… because he was desperate and he needed so much for this not to be real.

“Please, there’s just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle. Sherlock, for me. Don’t be… dead. Would you do that, _just for me?_ Just… stop it, stop  this…” John sobbed breathlessly, gesturing to the grave that he couldn’t believe held his one love.

Bowing his head, John covered his eyes with his hand and strangled out breathless sobs, choking back the whimpers while screaming at himself to stop the tears before he really lost himself to grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“John… You can’t keep living cooped up in this flat... It’s unhealthy.” Lestrade told John one night through the door of his bedroom.

John stared at the locked door and knew Lestrade was leaning beyond it. He didn’t want to leave this room, this room that still smelled so heavily of Sherlock and himself. John was thankful that his scent hadn’t reverted to what it had been before he’d bonded with Sherlock. He couldn’t understand why that was; once the alpha died the bond was severed, not completely, but enough that most omegas reverted back to their original unbounded scent. It was one of the reasons why omegas died after the death of their alpha. The bond never fully severing made it unbearably painful for them and they couldn’t survive without its completeness. John didn’t think himself suicidal, just an omega following his biology that told him life wasn’t worth living when his mate wasn’t alive. 

“John.”

John raised the comforter over his head and cocooned himself in the sheets, the scent of his alpha strengthening, and it almost felt as if he were being cradled in his alphas arms. 

“John, please.”

“I’m alive. I’m not dying yet, just let me… Let me…”

_Let me immerse myself in the comfort of my alpha’s den._

Lestrade sighed heavily, loud enough that John didn’t have to use his heightened sense of hearing to pick it up, and then the D.I. stepped away from the door, leaving John to spend another day in the solitude of his room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft was currently reading a report of Sherlock’s current activities in Germany when his cell rang.

“Hello.” Lestrade sighed, feeling as if he were carrying the weight of the world. Keeping watch of Sherlock, making sure John didn’t suffer another omega drop and remained relatively healthy was a tiring task. 

“Mycroft.” Lestrade greeted.

Mycroft’s frown deepened. This wasn’t the first time Mycroft had spoken to Lestrade since that horrible night he’d watched the alpha and that—Mycroft, shook his head, he would not lose his temper. It didn’t matter. That had nothing to do with why he was speaking to Lestrade.

He’d asked Lestrade to watch over John after Sherlock’s fall, because he needed someone who he could trust and the omega felt safe around. John wouldn’t allow his parents, nor would he allow Mycroft’s parents to keep watch of him and he understood this. Mrs. Hudson was a good care provider in the day time and Lestrade made a great care provider in the night. 

“What is it?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh… Um, John spends his days in his room. It’s been two months.”

Mycroft inhaled deeply and palmed his tired eyes.

“Is he eating?”

“Somewhat.”

“Drinking fluids?”

“Yes.” 

“Allowing the doctor to make house calls?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s fine. He’ll come out eventually.”

“I don’t think it’s healthy. He needs to… to be around people.”

“He’s an omega; too much could send him on another drop.”

“His family and friends would not.” 

Mycroft held back a growl, wishing to end this conversation; it was already going on longer than their previous conversations. Hearing Lestrade’s voice was making his stomach knot sickeningly and all he felt like doing now was vomiting. 

“Fine. I’ll inform his parents visitation is prescribed for the betterment of his health.”

There was a long pause and Mycroft contemplated if Lestrade was even listening to him anymore, most likely thinking about that bimbo—Mycroft gritted his teeth, hating himself for being so…sentimental. He didn’t care. Lestrade was just a polygamous alpha who didn’t understand the workings of a real heart. He wouldn’t waste his time thinking about a disloyal man like Lestrade.

“Are you angry with me?” Lestrade questioned, voice round, full of sentiment as if he cared about Mycroft’s _feelings_. Lestrade had proven his care was in direct correlation to his cock, nothing more substantial than that. 

Mycroft closed his eyes. He didn’t sound bitter. He wasn’t bitter. Just of sound mind.

“No.”

…

Lestrade said nothing for several more moments and Mycroft barely held back a growl.

_Treacherous, unfaithful—_

“I know you’re angry. I don’t know why, but I can hear it in your voice—Was it something I did?”

_Yes._

“You’re reading into nothing. Why would I be angry?”

“ _Mycroft_.”

Mycroft winced. He didn’t like the way Lestrade said his name, full of worry and hurt and it made his chest sore, because he couldn’t erase the memory of the woman kissing Gregory, touching him, and how Gregory accepted it.

“Call me if John’s health changes.” Mycroft snarled, unable to contain his malice with those images filling his mind.

“Mycroft, wait.” Lestrade rushed, but it was too late. The D.I. stared despairingly at his phone, sucking in his bottom lip to nibble at it worryingly; Lestrade felt something was terribly wrong. Mycroft never spoke to him like that—so devoid of feelings, feelings other than pure detestation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

John didn’t want to leave his bedroom—leaving his room felt as if he were leaving Sherlock, and he wanted to stay with Sherlock. John knew it was a horrible thought, but lately he’d been contemplating that when his omega finally let go of this world, that he’d like to die in their bed, surrounded by their combined scent.

Regardless of John’s wish to remain in his room, he could not. Instead he was forced to go out into the living room and greet his parents and sister. They’d stayed away, giving John’s omega peace and time to transition to the change, but now that they’d been given the okay by bloody Mycroft, they’d come. 

John found mild comfort in their arms and scents, but it could do nothing to calm or soothe the breaking heart of his omega. They were kin, but they were not his alpha and John just wanted to be with Sherlock. 

John ate the beef stew his mother prepared for him and leaned into his father, scenting his comforting alpha pheromones, and though it brought some ease, it could not mend the severed bond that was slowly killing him.

Harry sent off another wave of alpha pheromones and it did much the same as his father’s had. As John sat between his father and sister, he listened to his family talk about everything but what was most paining John’s heart, and he was grateful for this. 

John didn’t laugh when they did, but he smiled kindly at the stories they told and Mr. Watson had many funny jokes to give. John was thankful when his mother promised to stop by every few days with some more meals for him. John felt guilty for having Mrs. Hudson cook all his meals. 

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Holmes came by and their visit nearly broke John. Mr. Holmes didn’t smell exactly like Sherlock, but Mr. and Mrs. Holmes scent combined gave off hints of Sherlock’s scent and John couldn’t stop himself from breaking down and crying. Mrs. Holmes understood, and for a long while Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sat on either side of him. Mr. Holmes gave off his alpha pheromones while Mrs. Holmes held John and allowed him to sob into her neck while she rubbed his back. She promised that the pain wouldn’t last, that things would work out when all was right, and John would be happy again. John didn’t believe her, but she sounded so sure, that John _wanted_ to believe it could be true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A time came in which John couldn’t take the saddened stares of his family and friends, that he finally willed himself to live the remaining amount of time he had left. He was going to die, there was no stopping that. Omegas couldn’t survive without their alpha, but in the meantime John would try to live for his loved ones.

John started back up on therapy and went out to visit his doctor instead of staying in his home. Then John went back to work and there he tried to distract himself with his patients instead of dwelling within his grief, but never did he stop mourning or longing to join his mate.

In the early morning, John had tea and biscuits with Mrs. Hudson, and they spent their Sunday afternoons out around town or took a walk around the nearby park. John visited his parents and ate a meal with them once a week. John did much the same with his in-laws. On John’s days off he spent his afternoons spending time with Harry and his nights out with Lestrade to play trivia at a local bar. 

Time passed, but John wasn’t the same, his appetite decreased, he slept little if at all. Months passed and John tried. He really did try, but he knew it was futile. This wasn’t about fighting and winning. It was about trying to gain a little more time for his loved ones and that’s all he could do in the end.

  



	34. Chapter 34

John was trying. He was trying to be strong for his loved ones. He was trying to give them more time to accept his declining health, but his omega was in distress. John was curled under the comforter of his bed when it began. His senses became heightened; the lights from outside the window and noise of the bustling city filled his senses. It started off slow: hearing an elderly couple reminiscing about their youth, a mother admonishing her child for running off while she shopped, a group of friends joking around. Only, more and more people’s voices filled his ears. Releasing a horrified shout, John slammed his palms against his ears, attempting to drown out the sounds.

It grew worse, the horns of cars honking, the whooshing of their tires across the asphalt, dogs barking, birds chirping, a leaf-blower sweeping away leaves and dirt. John’s eyes watered, his brows tensed, and his screams were drowned out by the white noise.

John’s nose felt on fire, the scent of walnuts and coffee filled his overwrought senses and his body lurched, convulsing with the alpha’s scent: Lestrade.

Hands gripped John’s arms and shook his body. John’s hands balled into fists and he fought back, wailing against the man trying to shake him into reason, but John didn’t care. An alpha was touching him—not his alpha, not his. John’s omega snapped to the forefront, taking over, fangs descending, claws slashing at flesh as he fought back. He needed to get away. He needed help.

He needed…

_Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock!_

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mycroft strode through the quiet halls of the hospital, his stride swift, his mind spinning with worrying thoughts.

_This can’t be happening, John can’t…_

Mycroft made it to the omega wing and noticed two familiar figures standing in the waiting room: Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

"What happened?” Mycroft demanded.

Lestrade turned, and only then did the gentleman take notice of the D.I.’s state. Scratches marked Lestrade’s face, neck, and hands. The worst were along the left side of his neck. The silver haired man’s shirt was a tattered mess and stained with his blood.

“John’s gone into another drop, worse than before. I don’t know why. He was fine, and then he started screaming. I had to break the bedroom door down to get to him. He wasn’t really aware of anything. The doctors are with him now.”  
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Mycroft waited several long minutes before the doctor came to see him within the physician’s office and there, the doctor explained what Mycroft feared. Another omega drop, worse than the first. John was currently being restrained to a bed, violent, and suffering from delusions. His heart was being put under great stress and the doctor thought it best that they sedate him for some time. The doctor assured Mycroft that he’d be the first to know how John took it.

After his discussion with John’s physician, Mycroft made his way over to a still waiting Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to let them know John's state. He also assured Mrs. Hudson that if she waited a little more, she could go and see John as she was a beta and the only one that could cause John little stress. Mycroft thought it best Mrs. Hudson be there for John as she was one of the only ones John wanted near him at his most lowest.

Mycroft turned to leave and entered a nearby elevator, contemplating whether or not he should tell Sherlock. Mycroft didn’t think that was the smartest of choices, being as Sherlock wouldn’t be able to focus on his work if he knew and might end up getting himself killed with thoughts of John being in the state he was in now.

As the elevator doors were closing a figure hurriedly wedged itself in before the door dinged shut and Mycroft’s jaw clenched tight when he met Lestrade’s gaze.

_Wonderful._

“Why are you avoiding me?” Lestrade rushed, breathless. Apparently the D.I. wasn’t going to warm his way up to this topic.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying about John and not asking useless questions?”

Lestrade’s brows furrowed, affronted by Mycroft’s words, but resolutely held strong. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Mycroft dully answered, staring at the flashing red light reading floor 8.

_Good Lord, I should have opted for the stairs._

“You are,” Lestrade grumbled, pursing his lips in a frustrated scowl. “You’re angry, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.”

“Mm.” Mycroft hummed feigning thoughtfulness, but his eyes said something else, something more threatening.

“What is it, Mycroft?” Lestrade all but commanded.

Mycroft shut his eyes and took a deep breath, because he was a gentleman. He was not someone who gave in to emotions and tantrums. An alpha like Lestrade wasn’t worth it.

“This is about what I said that day you paid me a visit, isn’t it?”

Mycroft stared at his reflection of the elevator doors, proud of himself when he didn’t flinch at the reminder of that day.

“You’re… I never thought confessing would mean you’d treat me like the plague.”

Mycroft couldn’t stop himself from scoffing, as if Lestrade really cared for him.

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

_Floor 4. Good Lord, this was taking forever._

“You don’t believe I was serious?”

“Genuine would be more suitable,” Mycroft snipped, unable to stop himself as the trollop’s face flashed before his eyes once more.

Mycroft felt Gregory’s eyes burning a hole into his head by the intensity of his stare.

“Genuine? I was… am… How—?”

“Because you aren’t—you’re like every other alpha out there - hardly unique, or faithful.”

God, this wasn’t what Mycroft had wanted, he’d come for John, but now Lestrade was here, pushing and annoying him to no end and all Mycroft wanted to do was curse the man to hell. Not gentleman-like, vulgar and average in behaviorism— and all so detestable.

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but Mycroft knew what he would ask, it was obvious he didn’t understand what Mycroft was implying.

“I saw you!” Mycroft snapped, his void features at last giving to emotions—exposing the anger within. “You said you were fond of me and I foolishly trusted you. I spied on you. Placed hidden cameras in your home—and before you say it was an invasion of privacy, you should know better than to not realize I am the type to do such for those who I care about. Sherlock being one example of the lengths I’d go to in protecting and watching over others.”

Lestrade remained voiceless, struggling to take in everything Mycroft had said. Of course he was stunned and a bit put off with the idea of Mycroft spying on him, but as Mycroft had said, he should have already anticipated such from a man like this one. Gregory’s stomach roiled sickeningly at the realization as to what Mycroft had witnessed.

“Oh God.”

“You are not a man of his word. If you are fond of someone, as you implied you were, you wouldn’t have sought out someone else.”

“…Mycroft,” Gregory began weakly.

“It doesn’t matter. I lost my character for a moment, thinking… Thinking things I shouldn’t have, but it matters not anymore.”

“You… You like me?”

Mycroft shot Gregory a withering glare. “I don’t like you.”

“But… You said -”

“I was foolish, thinking things I shouldn’t have, as I’ve stated before. It was nothing…”

Gregory searched Mycroft’s gaze, attempting to read past the coldness and grasp onto the warmth of emotion, but there was only ice.

“Was she good?”

“What?” Gregory blanched. “You… You didn’t watch?”

The elevator dinged as it opened.

“I might place hidden surveillance on someone, but I’m not a depraved pervert. I saw enough,” Mycroft snarled and spun on his heel, exiting the elevator.

As Mycroft exited the hospital and made his way to his waiting vehicle, an agent opening the door for him, he heard Gregory call for him to stop as he rushed the remaining distance.

“Mycroft wait, please, you missed an important part.”

Mycroft laughed sardonically, “I don’t think I did.”

“We stopped. I didn’t… I told her to leave,” Gregory murmured softly, head bowed, feeling guilty, though really they weren’t a couple and if he had slept with her it wouldn’t have been cheating. Mycroft was right, when you expressed feeling for someone, you should follow your words with actions as proof of your fidelity.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I screwed up. I know I shouldn't have, but I was lonely and I… I was drunk and it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone. Fuck, I don’t know what to say.”

“Good day, Lestrade. Keep me informed in regards to John,” Mycroft ended, ignoring the evident remorse in Gregory's eyes as he entered the car, his agent shutting the door behind him.

Mycroft couldn’t trust the words of a man who could so easily give to the pleasures of the body. Gregory wasn’t worth it. No one was worth feeling for. Sentiment was a weakness. Mycroft needed to keep reminding himself of that.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Time… Everyone said all John would need was time and things would get better… easier. It didn’t. John struggled to maintain his weight, losing more than was healthy. The doctors Mycroft sent him to weekly were never pleased with his efforts - apparently they weren’t good enough. John hardly slept at night, he’d be lucky to have four hours of undisturbed sleep. Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn’t been there… hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. But he was and he did. Because of it he had nightmares, almost daily, and that horrifying sight would forever haunt him. Time… Time would not heal these wounds.

John was beaten and lacked the energy to fight. He’d lasted two years. Two years. That was more than John ever thought possible, but then that could be because of the bond. Tattered, partially severed it was, but still it was there and gave him more time than he’d have received without it.

John couldn’t understand it. From what he’d read the bond should have completely severed, even if not immediately after the alpha’s death, it should have severed fully soon after. John’s bond hadn’t severed yet and though he couldn’t understand it, he clung to that little piece of Sherlock. He nurtured it, immersed himself in its warmth and sometimes—John knew he must be losing his mind with exhaustion—it felt like a gentle pulse would course through his entire body. Energy that was both bright and powerful—Sherlock—and John would cry while welcoming the surge of energy.

Setting a bouquet of flowers before the grave of his only love, John clung to their frayed bond. A warm, small hand reached out and took hold of his own and John turned to face the blond woman beside him. Mary Morstan. John didn’t know what he’d do without her, and squeezed her hand in gratitude.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock, is that quite clear?”

“What do you think of this shirt?”

“Sherlock!”

“I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft. Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in. Feel every quiver of its beating heart.” Sherlock was tired of dealing with Mycroft, yes he understood his help was needed, but really… Two years working to destroy Moriarty’s network was a lot of work and he’d finally completed his mission, all he wanted now was to see one person in particular.

“One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic concurs. There is going to be a terrorist strike on London, a big one.”

“And what about John Watson? Have you seen him?”

“Oh yes, we meet up every Friday for fish and chips.” Mycroft’s sarcasm thickly laced his voice. Though he’d kept his watch over John, the omega didn’t want anything to do with him. He blamed him for Sherlock’s suicide.

“I’ve kept a weather eye on him, of course,” Mycroft added while gesturing for his agent to hand Sherlock the file he knew his brother wanted, though he’d never ask for it directly.

“We haven’t been in touch at all... to prepare him.”

“No.” Sherlock acknowledged somberly.

Sherlock felt that pain, the same pain he’d felt the moment after he’d faked his death and John had slipped into his first omega drop. It was always there, pulling, tugging, needing the strength of their weakened bond. John’s eyes looked sad in the photograph given to him, lonely, in need and it pained him greatly they’d been separated for so long, but it had to be done.

John looked so different, saddened eyes, underweight, and… that hideous mustache. How did John expect Sherlock to kiss him like that—that would cause so many skin burns on his delicate lips. Not to mention it aged John ten years more. It was all so distasteful.

“Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.”

“We?”

“He looks ancient. I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.” Sherlock began pacing the room, contemplating how to reveal himself to his omega. “I think I’ll surprise John. He’ll be delighted.”

“You think so?” Sherlock was deluding himself. Mycroft was willing to bet John would be more likely to murder Sherlock during his surprise resurrection from the dead.

“Hmm, pop into Baker Street, who knows, jump out of a cake.”

“Baker Street? He isn’t there anymore.”

Sherlock stopped primping himself up and faced Mycroft at this discovery.

“Why would he be? It’s been two years. He’s got on with his new life.” If you can call it that.

“What life? I’ve been away.” Sherlock could read the underlining worry within Mycroft and moved towards the gentleman. 

“Where’s he going to be tonight?”

“How would I know?”

“You always know.”

“He has a dinner reservation in Marylebone. Nice place. They have a few bottles of the 2000 St Emilion, though I prefer the 2001.”

Sherlock suddenly felt ill. John hated fancy restaurants, and he could only surmise one reason as to why he’d go to such a place.

“I think maybe I’ll just drop by.” Sherlock’s voice lacked the previous energy.

Mycroft could see the worry etched out in the lines of Sherlock’s brows, and he knew he could reassure him. Tell Sherlock John still loved him and hadn’t strayed, but then again he didn’t think it was his place to. Sherlock would need to reveal himself to John and let his omega reassure him of his fidelity. Mary Morstan was an alpha in love, but John was a man with eyes for only Sherlock. 

“You know, it is just possible that you won’t be welcome,” Mycroft added, knowing the pain and sorrow John had gone through would not be so easily forgiven, even when it was for a man the omega truly needed in his life.

“No, it isn’t,” Sherlock hissed, because that couldn’t be. Not after all he’d done for them. John would understand Sherlock’s sacrifice, even if Mycroft couldn’t. Sherlock had done this for John.

“Now, where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“You know what.”

Just then the smirking female agent entered the room again, holding out Sherlock’s beloved trench coat. 

“Blood.” Sherlock addressed Mycroft one last time before leaving the room, finally able to be where he’d wanted to be for so long - with his John.

  



	35. Chapter 35

John knew he'd never love anyone but his Sherlock. He'd said as much to his husband, but John wondered if Sherlock ever truly understood just how serious he'd been. For some, love could come and go, and even if one love remained, another could develop over time, one that equaled or even surpassed the prior. But a love like that wasn't the kind of love John felt. The love John felt was a one in a lifetime kind of love. A love that was whole. A love that consumed and left nothing else to give. A love that was constant, unbreakable, and immeasurable. 

Sherlock was it for John, and even now that had not changed. Omegas couldn't survive the death of their alpha. It was a truth known by most. Still, there were some omegas that chose to ease their pain with a partial bond with a living alpha. These omegas were abnormal and though a partial bond was created with another alpha, the omega could not cure the severed bond of their true mate, and would die regardless of the new alpha's tie with them. Omegas could only bond once and these partial bonds, more often than not, would cause the omega to feel a sense of betrayal towards their true alpha.

Mary Morstan was a kind woman, but John didn't want her. John could never want anyone but his Sherlock. When they'd met through work, John could scent her interest. Mary wanted to comfort him and help with his pain, to form a partial bond, but John firmly rejected Mary's advances.

John was a steadfast person as were most omegas. The abnormality of a partial bond was something John couldn't even think about. The very thought made John sick to his stomach. He would never betray Sherlock. Even though Sherlock was gone, John could never do such a thing as that.

Two years and Sherlock's and John's tattered bond had yet to fully sever. It both amazed and frightened John. It was amazing for John in the way that it proved the deepness and strength of their bond. Yet it was also frightening, because he wasn't sure when their bond would finally give and snap, effectively ending his life and sending him to his one and only alpha.

After working for two years, John had finally decided he'd remained strong long enough and gave in his letter of resignation. John wanted to stop trying so hard. Stop pretending he was strong enough to continue. All John wanted to do was rest, remember, and let go.

Mary really cared for him. John knew this when the woman continued to visit him after he'd resigned. Even when John moved out of 221B Baker Street and to a secluded home in a rural area of the countryside. John now lived less than 30 minutes from his in-laws and just over two hours from London.

John felt sorry Mary wasn't happy, but his feelings would never change, and Mary finally accepted that. Mary might have accepted John would never love her as more than a friend, but she continued to stay by his side and love him in silence and through the kindness she offered with her friendship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John sat across from Mary within a restaurant he felt uncomfortable in. It was far more fancy than the places John normally frequented, but then again he hadn't chosen this particular restaurant. Mary had asked him to join her here, and at first he'd tried to refuse, but Mary was one persistent woman who would not take no for an answer.

John was dressed in one of his best suits, not because he wanted to be, but because they wouldn't let him pass through the door without it. Mary wore one of her finest dresses, and John knew she wanted this to mean more than just two friends eating a meal together. 

"John," Mary began, her eyes already taken to silently pleading.

John could see it coming, Mary hadn't given up just yet, even though John had made it clear to her. John knew her alpha had already set its sights on him. 

"Mary." John began because he needed this to stop. 

John cared so much for Mary, but his care for her equaled the care he held for his sister. John wanted Mary in his life, he wanted her friendship, but Mary had to accept that John was not capable of loving anyone anymore. The one person he'd loved, he'd lost two years ago.

"I know we haven't known each other for that long, but I--we get along so well..."

John felt himself recoil at the realization that this wasn't going to be another confession of love but a proposal of sorts. Become John's proxy alpha. John felt sick at the idea. A proxy could never be anything more than an unworthy, incapable mate, and John would never destroy his memory of Sherlock. John's heart could only ever hold one within it and even though his Sherlock was gone from this world, Sherlock still possessed his heart and body completely. 

"Mary, please,"

"No, let me finish... I... know how hard things are for you. I know you can't forget him, and I'm not asking you to. It's just... Meeting you was the best thing that could have happened."

John gave a weak smile, "I agree, meeting you, it has been one of the best things that could have happened and you've helped me so much Marry. I thank you for that, but-"

"John, I'm not.... I could never replace him, but... but if you'll have me... I could give you all the care and love an omega could ever-"

"Mary..."

"Sir, I think you'll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking."

John suddenly found himself being interrupted of his rejections to Mary's loaded question, by a well meaning, but ill-timed waiter. John tried to politely send the man away, but he would not leave, and when finally John raised his head to meet the waiters gaze, time stopped.

John didn't know what to think... All he knew was Sherlock was dead. But staring at this man... With eyes that broke John's frail heart. John was forced to accept that it couldn't be true. His Sherlock... That alpha he loved with every fiber of his being, was alive. 

There was a part of him that felt as if a weight had been lifted. Like he could finally breathe without having to endure the painful pulsing of his heart when he knew the one person he longed to be with again couldn't breathe. 

The cruelty of the truth that he'd been living a lie... That he'd been lied to and left alone to suffer... _That_ was a cruelty which sent John leaping out of his chair and directly at the unprepared alpha.

John was going to throttle Sherlock, beat him to a pulp, then he could go back to a home that wasn't his home, curl into the sheets that lacked the scent of his alpha, cradle his bloodied fist and scent his only alpha's blood as he sobbed the night away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock knew John might be upset and yell, but for him to be violent and spiteful, for him to refuse to help him with an imminent terrorist attack, for him to have found himself a proxy alpha, this was just too much.

He said he was sorry. John should have accepted his apology. What had he done wrong? He'd done it all for John, but his omega refused to listen to him. Refused to acknowledge the truth--that Sherlock had been selfless in this one act.

Sentiment was a foreign matter to Sherlock. He knew this, but he also knew that what he felt for John was far more sentimental than anything he'd ever felt for anyone. Sherlock didn't want to place the name of what this was out loud; it felt too brittle to voice. As if... If he were to say it, his whole world would crumble to pieces, because he'd lived a life of science, not... debilitating sentiment such as this.

Though he could not say it, Sherlock was certain John knew. John felt it in the way he'd laid all the affection and care in that one night they'd spent as truly husbands, their wedding anniversary. The one and only night where sentiment was at the most present in their lives. The one night, Sherlock had dropped his guard and showed John the secret that lingered in his vulnerable eyes.

This was all wrong. John was supposed to forgive him. Yell at him, curse him, punch him, maybe, but in the end he was supposed to forgive him. 

Why wouldn't John forgive him? 

Sherlock felt a sickening churning in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't eaten anything for days and if he had even a small amount of substance in his stomach now, he knew he'd retch it out in this moment. He felt nauseous at the recollection he'd interrupted... Mary from proposing to _his_ husband. 

Was it because.... Had Sherlock miscalculated? He'd never been wrong when it truly mattered, not where John was concerned, but had he... Had Sherlock misunderstood John's care for biology? Was John....? No... John never told him, never clearly said he loved Sherlock, so... 

_John doesn't love me..._

Sherlock bowed his head and soaked up the blood from his nose with the cloth proxy alpha Mary had given to him, a painful throb claiming his heart, and he had to wonder... Was this what a breaking of a heart felt like? If it were, Sherlock wasn't sure he could survive this. 

_John... Does he...? He must. John loves Mary._

Torture, he'd become accustomed to. If it got to be too much he only need enter his mind palace to escape it. But none were as devastating as this. Sherlock could not escape this pain within the security of his mind palace, because John lingered there, he inhabited so much space within his mind, and was there to greet him during his escapes. 

This... 

This was too much of a cruelty to bear.

  



	36. Chapter 36

John was in a state of shock. He'd been violent, yes, but the shock of it all had yet to wear off. 

Mary came to his home the next morning and John knew she'd noticed the change. When she'd insinuated he'd shaven his mustache off for Sherlock, he'd denied the notion. Apparently, it didn't suit him, and he was only shaving it off because no one liked it. He'd never do anything to please Sherlock, not now, after all his lies. And certainly not after this one big one that had nearly broken him.

Mary wanted to know; regardless of the fact John had nearly beaten Sherlock to a pulp, if he was going to see him. John wouldn't and he'd told Mary that. Mary, however, didn't believe him. John couldn't understand why she liked Sherlock, given how his mate and husband was back in his life. Maybe it was because Mary knew how hurt John was - that forgiving him seemed unlikely. John didn't know. 

"He's your husband and mate."

John glared at Mary from across the kitchen table.

"I know that."

"Don't you think you should resolve this?"

"I'm sorry, but why do you care? I'd think you'd want me to stay away from him."

Mary smiled weakly. "He is your alpha. I love you and I want you to be happy. If... If reconciling with your husband will do it then..."

"That won't happen," John bit out, grinding his teeth and holding back his anger, because Mary didn't deserve it, Sherlock did.

Mary stared on, seeming to doubt his words, and that frustrated John all the more.

"It won't," John firmly added for effect, but it felt more like he was trying to convince himself.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

John didn't understand why he'd come here. Standing before the black door that read 221B, John felt a great many things. Much like he had when visiting Mrs. Hudson after so long. Only now it was worse because he knew his husband was alive and probably within that flat. He missed Sherlock's scent and he hated to admit such. The moment they'd met and John dived after the alpha, the scent of his husband accosted him and John's omega all but whined for want of it. But John would be damned if he leaned in to nuzzle his alpha’s scent gland and inhale his alpha pheromones. No, instead John had opted for strangulation.

The unknown men came too quick and caught John by surprise. It was too late to fight back once the needle entered his neck and the drug coursed through his blood. Darkness took him then. When he woke up hours later, mind foggy, felt the heat of fire and breathed in the suffocating smoke, John realized this was it. He was going to die.

He didn't die. No, he was saved. Like so many years before, his angel came. Grabbing onto him tightly and dragging him away from the flames and into the cool night, and as his eyesight cleared from the smothering smoke, he stared up into soft blue and this time... This time John whimpered with pain and need - a need so great his heart felt the pain of sorrow that nearly destroyed him then and there.

"John. John. John. John. John. John," was all John could hear, from a voice that left him feeling as if he were still in the pit of fire. That voice haunted him in his dreams and here it was again, and there was no running away from it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

John, no matter how angry and hurt he was, needed to see Sherlock. They hadn’t spoken after the alpha rescued him from the fire. John knew he didn't owe Sherlock anything, but he couldn't stop himself this time. 

When he opened the flat door, John wasn’t expecting to find Sherlock standing on the couch between his mother and father. 

"John." 

Even now it hurt to hear that voice. It made him want to curl up in a ball and scent the alpha, reaffirming that Sherlock was alive and well. But he'd never let his omega out to do such, not with Sherlock, and certainly not after all the lies.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Holmes said and Mr. Holmes smiled in greeting. 

John had bonded with Sherlock's parents after the alpha's supposed death. They'd met up once a week to have dinner and John didn't think he'd have survived Sherlock's loss without them.

"Sorry - you're busy." John began edging away, suddenly realizing that Sherlock's parents must have had a shock too and that they'd want to speak with their son as well.

Sherlock hopped off the couch and hurriedly grabbed his mother’s arm, pulling her up.

"Er, no, no, no. They were just leaving," Sherlock shot out.

"Oh, were we?" Mrs. Holmes asked surprised.

"Yes."

"No, no. They're your parents." John moved towards the door, but stopped when Sherlock gave him that look. A look of urgent need and John stopped because that look alone could make him do anything.

Glaring at his mother, Sherlock grumbled, "Go. Bye."

"Yeah, well, we’re here ’til Saturday, remember."

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out."

John watched as Sherlock herded his parents towards the door.

"Well, give us a ring. You too, John!" Mr. Holmes called out.

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out."

Sherlock ushered them past the door, but as soon as he attempted to shut it, Mrs. Holmes stuck her heavy foot at the doorway, keeping it open a sliver. Sherlock opened it slightly, releasing some of the pressure that might have been there and stared up at his mother.

"I can’t tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you," Mrs. Holmes whispered, but John's omega hearing caught it. He could feel the heat of Sherlock's gaze on him, most probably worried he could still hear them, but John stared out the window as if he remained none the wiser.

"We’re just so pleased it’s all over."

They continued to speak and all through it John listened to them. Something was off; Sherlock's parents didn't seem as upset as he would think them to be. The moment they were left alone, Sherlock explained that they'd be staying for the next few days and John understood why, but still...

_They knew..._

John thought as much and, at the guilt in Sherlock's eyes, John's anger made a reappearance. He didn't care how many times Sherlock apologized to him, this wasn't right.

"Mycroft knew. Your parents knew. Molly, bloody Molly knew, but you didn't think I had a right to know!"

"John," Sherlock whined.

Damn him. 

"You didn't care if I died?"

"What?"

"You know I'm an omega. I could have died!"

"No John. No. You were never in danger of dying."

"I had two omega drops!"

"I'm sorry for that." Sherlock's remorse was clearly present in his eyes. "But you were never in danger of dying, our link was... is frayed, but it can't snap without one of us dying. I knew it would be hard for you, but Mycroft assured me he'd watch over you. I even mended the bond as best I could. Didn't you feel me?"

John stared blankly at the alpha. He'd felt it, but he had thought... He wasn't sure what he'd thought, but it hadn't been that Sherlock was trying to comfort him.

John didn't agree. Sherlock was warped if he thought Mycroft was what he’d needed. What he’d needed was to know his husband wasn't dead. What he’d needed was to never have seen Sherlock jump in the first place and most certainly never to have seen his lifeless bloodied body.

What he needed now was to know who was trying to kill him, and until he found out whom, he'd need to work with Sherlock once more. After, John was going back to his country home and hiding away from the world and the alpha that had betrayed him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

1:29

John didn't think this was how it would end. Sherlock was at a loss and they couldn't run away from this. 

These were his final moments and John couldn't help but think about life, how everything had brought him to this point. Brought him to Sherlock and made him feel some of the worst pain in his life. Had made him learn what love was. And learn how deeply the loss of one you love could cut.

Staring at Sherlock as he raised his head and stared at him with a look of loss, John felt his heart give way to care. Because Sherlock's eyes never looked as vulnerable as they did now.

"I'm sorry." 

"What?"

Sherlock didn't have the right to look at him like that. He didn't have the right to stare at him with tearful eyes and make John desire nothing more than to hold him and give and receive comfort. 

"I can’t... I can’t do it, John. I don’t know how." Sherlock straightened up onto his knees then. "Forgive me?"

"What?" John was furious. This wasn't right. Sherlock was smarter than this. He always found a way out. "No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick."

"No."

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No."

"You’re just trying to make me say something nice." John would be damned if he fell for another lie.

Sherlock chuckled humorlessly. "Not this time."

"It’s just to make you look good even though you behaved like..." It took all of John's strength not to cry, because he refused to show Sherlock he cared more than he let on.

John gripped the railing as Sherlock took a seat on a nearby chair, staring up at him with hope and more than that, but John wanted to remain blind to the sentiment that was clearly etched on the alpha’s face and pouring out of his eyes.

John stomped his foot and swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I wanted you not to be dead."

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for... If I hadn’t come back, you wouldn’t be standing there and...”

John bared his teeth and turned away, shaking his head.

"You’d still have a future... with Mary." 

John felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Why? Mary? John felt sick. Sherlock thought... How could Sherlock think him to be unfaithful? He'd never... Even now, knowing Sherlock had lied to him, there was no way he'd betray their bond. Sherlock had betrayed their bond with his lies and that was why John was so angry and hurt, but even with his betrayal, John couldn't...

Still, Sherlock had hurt him and John, even knowing how manipulative and spiteful it would be, wanted to hurt Sherlock right back, so he answered, "Yeah. I know." Turning to point at Sherlock, features tense in his glare.

Seconds later John grimaced and turned away, hiding the guilt that might betray his words. Missing the sight of Sherlock clenching his fist against his mouth, then wiping his nose, while his face expressed the despair of John's words.

When John turned to meet Sherlock's gaze once more, he spoke softly, voice raspy. "Look, I find it difficult... I find it difficult, this sort of stuff."

"I know." Sherlock knew well enough John found it hard expressing his feelings.

Exhaling a breath, John lowered his head, then straightened his back with resolve and met Sherlock's stare directly. "You were the best and the wisest man... that I have ever known."

Sherlock stared up at him, blinking back the tears and John was struggling himself, talking about this with the man who'd mended and broke his heart time and time again.

"Yes, of course I forgive you."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

John wanted to yell and curse Sherlock for lying, for making him believe they were going to die. Though he did yell and curse after he'd realized Sherlock played him, he couldn't hate him. He didn't think he'd ever hate Sherlock. Even with all his lies. But the case was finished. The terrorist attack was stopped and now John could leave.

He knew he had two choices. He could stay. He already forgave Sherlock, but John wasn't ready to move back in with Sherlock, or reconcile their marriage... That, John wasn't sure he had it in him to do. After they'd finished explaining themselves to the authorities and Mycroft had come to speak with Sherlock, John made to leave the busy consultant. 

The warmth of a large hand took hold of his, stopping him, and John turned to meet soft silver-blue. 

"John,” Sherlock breathed. So many things in that one utterance of his name.

John knew this was the moment to let Sherlock know they could mend their marriage or let it go. He didn't want to admit it but... John loved Sherlock. Of course he still loved him, but he couldn't trust him. What about next time? What about when a new threat came, what would Sherlock do to save John? Pretend to die once more? 

John glanced over Sherlock's shoulder to Mycroft standing off to the side, unashamed to be caught listening in. 

"I forgive you," John said, meeting Sherlock's gaze again, saying what he knew Sherlock now understood, "but, I... I can't do this."

John watched as Sherlock's brows furrowed, his eyes filling with an array of emotions John was unsure of, and felt the hand wrapped around his own release him, until John's hand fell limply at his side. 

"Right..." Sherlock lowered his gaze to the ground and took a step back. "I understand. Mary loves you. Even I can see that."

John bit his tongue because Sherlock couldn't see. He couldn't see that John loved him still and that all he felt for Mary was a love of friendship. John just nodded, turned to look away from the alpha, and without another word left his husband standing within a swarm of officers and agents. 

John needed to shower, wash off the scent of his alpha, because this was all so painful. It hurt to leave. It hurt to be near his Sherlock. It hurt most of all to be misunderstood. John didn't know if he made the right decision. All he knew was that his heart always hurt when it was in regards to Sherlock.

  



	37. Chapter 37

Mycroft sat at his desk, looking over the reports concerning North Korea, and contemplated his options. The much needed and appreciated silence of his office was soon disturbed by a knock on his door.

"Come in." Mycroft sighed heavily and pressed back in his chair.

A new agent entered his office.Mycroft had an inkling as to what the disturbance regarded.

"I'm sorry sir, I know you said you didn't want to be bothered, but um... D.I. Lestrade from the NSY is here."

Mycroft frowned. Yes, he'd thought that was it. Still, one year of this was... It was all so tiring. The D.I. came, two to three times in a month. Mycroft told his agents to relay the same message, "Mr. Holmes will be busy for the foreseeable future."

One year and Gregory hadn't stopped visiting. Nor did the phone calls cease, regardless of Mycroft ignoring each call. Normally, his agents turned down the D.I., knowing Mycroft didn't want to see him, and only relayed which days he'd come by. This new agent was not familiar with protocol.

Mycroft prepared to explain that the agent should do as the rest before him had, yet stopped himself before he could. Deciding that this routine of Gregory's needed to stop once and for all. 

"Bring him." Mycroft said, exhaling another deep sigh, knowing this was not going to be an easy day.

The agent nodded his head in confirmation and left. Soon after his departure there was a knock on his door and Mycroft called them in.

The young agent opened the door and in stepped Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft nodded for the agent to leave, and the young man shut the door behind him, leaving Mycroft alone with Gregory.

"Mycroft." Gregory began, taking insistent steps towards the government official seated at his desk.

"Lestrade... Have a seat." Mycroft cut in, gesturing to one of the two empty chairs across from him.

Lestrade paused. Mycroft sounded so formal and he hated it. Regardless of this, Lestrade seated himself and stared across from the voiceless gentleman, waiting for him to speak.

"I know you've been avoiding me and I can't fault you for that. I know I hurt you."

Mycroft broke their gaze to stare down at his open folder, and closed it. Not believing Lestrade would look at them, but still feeling the need to conceal the classified information. 

"I know you must think me insincere, but that is far from the truth."

Mycroft frowned, unimpressed with Lestrade's words.

"You copulated with someone else."

"I didn't sleep with her!" Lestrade defended himself, but it only made Mycroft smirk menacingly. 

"Right. You just snogged her."

Lestrade's eyes softened with remorse. 

"I'm sorry for that, but... I was lonely. You and I, we weren't... and you were never clear how you felt, but I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have done that. I was drunk, Mycroft. I did something foolish and I regret it. I regret because of my mistake... I've hurt you and made it hard for you to ever want anything. Given what happened to your omega, I can only imagine--"

"Pardon..." Mycroft cut off the alpha's ranting, brows raising with alarm. "What...? Who told you about...? John?"

Lestrade bit his bottom lip, seeming to realize his fumble.

"I... told John about what happened and..."

"He thought it was okay to tell you about something that does not concern him." Mycroft snipped, lips pursing in a scowl that was tense and threatening.

"I'm glad he did... It made me realize what a jerk I am. Made me understand how hard it was for you to confess to feeling anything, because it must have been frightening to let another person in. I want you to know, you can let me in. I won't ever hurt you again, not if I can help it. I haven't... Not with anyone since... and I will wait, Mycroft. I will wait until you're ready to let me in." Lestrade spoke gently, as if calming a skittish colt. 

_Confess... Never. Frightened... Hardly. Let you in...? I'm no simpleton. Haven't... not with anyone since... I highly doubt that._

Mycroft felt resentment coil in the pit of his stomach. It was a sickening feeling to know Lestrade understood his pain and insecurities. He refused to allow Gregory to feel pity for him. The humiliation and anger it made him feel, Mycroft refused to let Gregory know how affected he was.

"Who says I can't let someone in? I'll have you know that the only thing that this experience helped me realize, was that I can never trust an alpha. I actually called you in today to tell you to move on, because I have."

Gregory stared at Mycroft blankly, unable to formulate what Mycroft was implying. Had Mycroft's affections for Gregory faded or had he...?

"I've applied to be mated to a replacement omega." Mycroft was an exceptional liar, and he wanted to inflict the same pain and hurt Gregory had given him.

A replacement omega was given to a alpha that had lost their original omega through death. Alphas requested a new omega from a match making agency. When the agency found an omega that had an alpha who had died before a claim could be made, they were given to a new alpha. Usually, given to the highest bidder, or one with a lot of connections.

Mycroft had never applied for a replacement omega, because he hadn't been ready to, and he simply didn't want to. Not after Gigi. Gregory didn't know that, and that was the point. 

The shock and then misery that filled Gregory's warm eyes did not give Mycroft the vindication he thought his statement would. Mycroft couldn't stare into those eyes longer than a few seconds, and instead focused on staring at his folded hands resting on the desk.

"Mycroft..."

"I'm saying this only so you realize that your visits are unwanted."

There was a long moment of silence, before the older alpha breathed out a weak, "I see..."

Mycroft could not raise his gaze when the other alpha rose from the chair. Only when he was sure Gregory had turned his back to face him as he made his way to the door did Mycroft look up and watch as the D.I. left his office. 

When Mycroft was left alone once more, he felt ill. His stomach roiled. Churning consistently and he found it difficult to revert back to his work. Instead, Mycroft called in the new agent and asked him to let his driver know he would like to leave the office. Mycroft wanted to go home, drink from his expensive bottle of scotch and lay within the stillness of his bedroom. His day was done. He needed to sleep away the sickness that claimed him. 

Maybe after he slept this off, he'd feel better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John found himself breaking into tears over the next two weeks. At least three times a day his eyes would mist over and they'd give to tears. He had no strength in him. He spent most of his days wallowing in the stillness of his home. Remembering his past. Remembering his failures. Remembering all the times he'd hurt Sherlock.

The last of the memories that broke him was the look of resignation on Sherlock's face as he'd given up on him. On a possibility of them ever being an, 'us'. John missed Sherlock. He'd never stop missing him. Their bond was frayed and would never be as strong as it had been before Sherlock's fake suicide. 

"You love him still." Mary said what John knew to be truth one evening as the omega lay himself on the sofa and Mary sat across from him on a chair.

John stared over the pillow he hugged close to him and at Mary smiling sadly at him.

"I can't trust him."

"What about all he's done to save you?"

"He told Mycroft... His parents... Molly... and a whole bunch of people that helped him stage his suicide, but he couldn't tell me. Me, Mary, his mate."

"He had his reasons."

John glared at the woman.

"Don't defend him, Mary. Not to me."

Mary frowned, anger in her eyes, "I'd have done the same if I were him."

John gawked at the alpha.

"It was wrong! Bloody terrible to leave me thinking I would die at any moment. Can you imagine what that was like? Two years, living, but not really living, waiting for your heart to stop along with the snapping of the bond?"

Mary's anger vanished as John's voice wavered, her eyes softened with care, and John stubbornly wiped that wetness that dampened his lashes.

"He loves you, sacrificing everything to ensure you lived, even if you can't see it as living. Sherlock... He must truly love you."

John laughed bitterly at the notion.

"That is not love. If he'd loved me, he'd have never deleted his memories of us." John had told Mary long ago of their marriage... Everything about their marriage.

"Maybe it was because he loved you that he did it." When Mary saw John couldn't follow her thought process she further explained herself. "Maybe Sherlock loved you, but he never understood how you loved him. The insecurity and constant rejections could have driven him to protect himself. But even with his deleted memories, it's clear to me, at least, that he fell back in love with you."

John shook his head, unable to accept such a notion as truth.

"I'd have never done that."

"John... Think about Sherlock."

"I do."

"No you don't. All you've ever done was for the betterment of you. You hold Sherlock so high, that he can't help but fail, and further prove undeserving to you. You punish him so easily and forgive him less than he deserves."

"I thought you wanted me?"

Mary eyes gave way to warmth, "I do, but I realize I will never have you. I want you to be happy. I need you to see that you are flawed, and hold grudges like no other, because you've been hurt in the past I know. But Sherlock is not one of those betas that harassed you. He has never been your bully and doesn't deserve to be treated like he is, because you hate yourself for being an omega."

John couldn't say anything. His eyes filled with the tears he faught so hard to hold in, hating how Mary knew him better than he knew himself. Though he knew she was right.

"He loves you. He's protected you nearly his whole life. He deserves to be loved. You need to realize you have every right to love him, alpha or not. He isn't your enemy... He's always been your angel." 

The tears fell then, a river of grief and acceptance. Mary knew...Mary surmised what John had never understood - what held him back from loving Sherlock in return.

"John..." Mary breathed, pained by the omega's tears, alpha pheromones filling the room and comforting John slowly but surely.

"You know... You're way better than my therapist." John laughed, his voice strangled by the voiceless sobs choking at the back of his throat.

Mary smiled. "Maybe I should rethink my profession?"

John let out a throaty laugh and rubbed his eyes.

"Go talk to him, John."

John said nothing, only stared at Mary, and contemplated if he had the courage to do what he knew he should.

  



	38. Chapter 38

John had tried. He had every intention of confessing to Sherlock, but life had other plans. Soon after his talk with Mary, Mycroft came to visit him. He'd then been told that Sherlock had gone missing several days ago. He'd last been spotted near one of his known danger zones. John hadn't known what to think, but thank God Mary was still there. She'd talked him through all the overwhelming thoughts and feelings that were laying waste to his mind and heart. 

They'd left together in search of Sherlock and when he found his mate dressed in shabby clothing, unshaven, _and_ in a crack house, John lost it. He yelled and berated Sherlock, and damn his mate for lying to him. Pretending he wasn't high off his kite. As if John was going to take Sherlock's word that he was clean. No. John had dragged Sherlock out of that crack house, arguing all the way to the car. He'd even gone as far as shoving Sherlock's protesting form inside the car Mary was waiting in. Once they were all inside they went straight to the lab, because he was going to test Sherlock's urine. 

Sherlock had been clean to John's disbelief. But Sherlock wasn't the same man he knew. He was making questionable friends, going to crack houses, and then... then there had been Janine. 

It had taken all of John's will not to start breaking things around the house when Janine stepped out of what had once been their den. The beta wore nothing but Sherlock's shirt when she'd exited their room. Once she'd revealed herself she'd then proceeded to sit on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, wrap her arms around his shoulders, and nuzzle his neck. Sherlock was at ease in her presence, wrapping an arm around her waist, and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. After she'd been sure her presence was known to a silently simmering John, she'd left to the restroom to shower. When Sherlock went to join her, John felt what little hope he had for them die. 

What John found to be most heartbreaking though, was watching Sherlock propose to Janine. What was John to say to that? They were still married. Separated, but still married, and so now John was just supposed to accept that Janine was Sherlock's second? No. John wouldn't take it. As soon as they'd left the building, John was going to tell Sherlock to call off the engagement, because he'd be damned if his mate took a second, not after what they'd been through. 

Only Sherlock had been shot and everything began to unravel. Janine was merely a means for Sherlock to get close to Magnussen. Sherlock explained how Janine and he were acting a part, that they had to make it look convincing so Sherlock could further investigate Magnussen. John's relief that it had all been an act was short lived, because he'd soon discovered who'd shot Sherlock.

_"... All you've ever done was for the betterment of you. You hold Sherlock so high, that he can't help but fail, and further prove undeserving to you. You punish him so easily and forgive him less than he deserves."_

Sherlock... John had pushed away the very man he loved out of anger. His anger was just, but so too should have been his forgiveness in the shape of his love. The love for his mate should have overpowered the anger of Sherlock's lie built out of the will to protect him. Through understanding of their love, forgiveness should have followed. Mary had been right. He did hold Sherlock to high standards, and when Sherlock failed to meet them, John was cruel. 

A part of John knew it was because of his youth. Being bullied hardened him towards alphas, but most specifically to Sherlock. He'd lived most of his life hating a man he hadn't met yet. When John did meet Sherlock he'd started battling himself, battling the bullies and their words, and battling his distorted views of his intended alpha. John was far too cruel to Sherlock. More so than any other alpha. For God's Sake, he treated Gregory Lestrade with more respect than his husband, and he'd been wrong. But other alphas were nothing compared to Sherlock, because Sherlock had the ability to control his heart and that scared the living hell out of John. Sherlock could destroy him, and maybe that was why John had been far too cruel to his mate. 

Now more than ever, John wished he'd done things differently. So many things he'd done wrong. So many times he'd attacked his mate. His tender, loving mate who opened his heart willingly to him. Allowing the omega to do with it as he willed, and so many of those times John had crushed it.

The words of Mary Morstan filled John's mind now, as he numbly watched Mycroft's men arrest her. He'd let Mary into his life and heart. She'd been working for Charles Augustus Magnussen and before that... Moriarty. 

Mary Morstan - if that even was her name, which John highly doubted - worked for Moriarty before his death and had been one of the snipers that day at pool. Mary swore it wasn't her that shot him, and though a part of him wanted to believe it was a lie, the helplessness in her eyes, the desperation he saw, made him hesitate. 

John tried to follow it all. Tried to listen to Sherlock and Mycroft as they explained Mary's involvement, but only half of it stuck. Mary had shot Sherlock to keep the secret. Sherlock believed Mary's feelings for John were sincere, but she'd been backed into a corner by Moriarty, then Magnussen. All that was almost too much to absorb, but there was more.

It always seemed like there would forever be more. More criminals, more lies, more pain. Sherlock began talking with Mycroft as the agents ushered out Mary. All while Mary pled with John to understand, to know that she was trying to finish it.

Sherlock began defending Mary to Mycroft, explaining her reasoning for lying, and that with her help they could capture Magnussen, and in return free her from his threats. John couldn't see how Sherlock could do such after Mary had been the one to shoot him and he'd almost lost his alpha again.

John's legs felt week and he staggered to a nearby wall and pressed a hand to it, balancing himself as he took in calming breaths. Trying to gather his wits. Trying not to recall how he'd nearly slipped into another omega drop a week and a half ago. 

Mycroft argued against it, much with the same thoughts as John. Mary had nearly killed Sherlock. She was an assassin, responsible for more crimes than they could possibly count, and who knew what else she'd done. 

Sherlock glanced over to his omega, scenting his distress, and yet feeling unable to comfort him. It didn't feel right. John didn't want him. Mary was who he needed and wanted, but he felt unable to fight for someone who had nearly ended his life. Sherlock knew this, because he'd seen them. John had chosen Mary. If Mary was who John wanted, Sherlock would fix it. He would make things right.

"She's John's proxy alpha, Mycroft. Let us talk to her. With her help we can bring down Magnussen."

John felt sick as it suddenly all made sense. Sherlock had forgiven Mary and wanted to release her because of John. He thought John wanted Mary and this... God, John felt disgusted with himself for allowing Sherlock to believe he'd been unfaithful and wanted another mate. Yet, John was far too numb to even voice the inaccuracy of Sherlock's belief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John loved Mary. This was true, but his love for Mary was only ever that of friendship. Mary had broken his trust though and even now that Magnussen was dead, and Sherlock had convinced Mycroft to release Mary, John couldn't fully forgive her.

"I'm truly sorry for all that I've done to hurt you and Sherlock." Mary spoke softly, standing outside of his country home doorstep. A taxi car waiting for her on his driveway, preparing to take her to the airport, from then on John wasn't sure where Mary would be traveling to, but he could only think of it as for the best.

"I know." John flashed a weak smile. "I hope, that at least now you can start living a life you're proud of."

Mary's smile was more brighter than John's and he knew she must feel infinitely better, no longer being threatened or blackmailed by anyone. She could be her own person. Start an honest life for herself, somewhere that no one knew her.

"I... I really... do love you." Mary choked out beyond the smile she wore to hide her pain, eyes warm and wet with feelings John could never return.

"I know." John did, Mary might have lied about many things, but that... John knew her feelings for him were sincere, now more than ever. "I do wish you happiness." 

"I... wish you happiness with Sherlock. I'm sorry if I caused any trouble between you two." 

"I know. I... We'll see where time takes us." John forced out, it was hard to say, because he wasn't sure where he and Sherlock stood with each other.

"I better be going or I'll miss my flight." Mary sniffled, stepping away and moving towards the steps.

"Safe travels." John called.

Mary didn't turn around to wave a last goodbye; she hurried her way to the taxi and got in. John scented the tears in the air before her door shut and felt a heaviness in his heart. Mary loved him and John would forever feel heartened that a strong woman like her had, but she would find love again. John believed that more than anything. Someone like Mary deserved to find love. Everyone made mistakes in their lives, but at least Mary was amending hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sherlock committed murder for John. Correction. Sherlock had committed murder for John and Mary, so that they could be together, and that hurt. John couldn't wipe the image of that night from his mind, not because of Magnussen's brains spraying the concrete, but because of the look of defeat in Sherlock's eyes. He'd given up on them and now wished him the best with Mary.

Mycroft was in a right tizzy after the events, trying to get Sherlock exonerate for the murder he'd committed in front of over a dozen agents. But to no avail. Sherlock would be sentenced to preform a mission for six months, and that mission would undoubtedly lead to his death. This, he and Sherlock kept from John. 

Sherlock felt guilt over the fact that his death might kill John, but when John's proxy alpha Mary mated him, his death would be less painful and maybe John would get two years of happiness with Mary. 

Standing before his once omega attempting to say goodbye was difficult. Sherlock wanted to say so many things. He wanted to confess so many things. How could he possibly do so in such little time, and what was the point. This was the end to them. There was nothing left for them. It was far too late to confess now. To apologize for all those mistakes he'd made. 

Maybe... Maybe things would have been different if Sherlock hadn't acted so rashly. If he hadn't stormed out that one night and... buried his memories of loving John since his youth. But why think that way now? It was too late for them. John had moved on. 

Sherlock only wished now that he'd deleted those memories instead of burying them within his mind palace, hidden inside of a room near that of Moriarty. So many times he'd scoped his mind trying to recall the memories he'd lost, figure out why there were so many blank spaces in his memories. So many rooms he'd went through... except for the one that he needed. Sherlock could almost laugh at his stupidity. It'd taken him being shot and nearly dying for him to enter the wrong room. Trapping himself with Moriarty. There he'd had to struggle, trying to drown out Moriarty's harsh words and find his way out. Running up those stairs away from Moriarty's words and opening that door of bright light, it overwhelmed him. All those memories, the blackness concealing everything vanished, and he remembered.

And waking up in that cold hospital room, with his feelings for John doubling, had been one of the most excruciating experiences of his life, because John wasn't there. Instead he'd been with Mary, probably having the proxy alpha comfort him. 

"Sherlock." John rasped. Looking at John was painful, more than Sherlock cared to express, so, looking down at his feet was far better than meeting those eyes. Maybe saying goodbye wasn't such a good idea.

"Where are you going?" The desperation in John's voice had Sherlock snapping his head up and meeting the omega's stare, though he knew nothing good could come of it. 

"Some undercover work in Eastern Europe."

"For how long?"

"Six months, my brother estimates... He's never wrong."

"And then what?"

...

"Who knows?" Sherlock shrugged weakly, averting his eyes. 

John inhaled a deep breath, nodding his head with voiceless understanding and shuffled his feet, giving himself away. Sherlock knew how to read John's body language more than anyone else's. John didn't like that. He thought Sherlock was implying he wasn't coming back for personal reasons. As if Sherlock would willingly want to stay away. As if he could possibly live a life away from London city and away from John Watson. 

Sherlock couldn't do that to John. He couldn't just leave without... without telling his omega how... He just couldn't. This was his last chance. He wasn't going to be coming back. John Watson deserved to know at least this much. He'd destroyed his omega enough as it was and giving him two years of life was a horrendous act against the man he loved, but he was powerless against the governments will.

"John..." Sherlock called to his omega, meeting dark blue eyes. "There's something I should say. I meant to say, but I haven't. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now."

John's stare didn't waver from his own. Sherlock's heart thudded against his chest loudly, his veins strumming with feeling. 

"I'm sorry. I know you have Mary now and you don't feel the same, but I want you to know that I... I love you. I will _always_ love you." Sherlock confessed.

Why say it now? John couldn't possibly want to hear about his feelings. He had Mary now. He was happy with his proxy alpha. But Sherlock did this mostly for himself. It hurt. The ache in his heart bled with grief, knowing it would mean nothing for John. Still, Sherlock needed to say it. He needed to know that at least John knew, because when he died, he didn't want to have any regrets.

This was enough... Well, it wasn't, but it would have to be. Sherlock bowed his head in a moment of silence and utter loss. Missing the hurt that flashed upon John's face.

"Sherlock..." John choked, his heart bursting over with grief and longing.

_Say it! Just say it!_

"Sherlock... you're the lo-" John's words fell away the moment Sherlock met his gaze with one of finality.

Raising out a hand for the omega to take, Sherlock cut through John's pause.

"To the very best of times, John." Sherlock gave as his parting.

_That's it? You'll leave me to some other alpha? You won't try to stop me? Why would you? I've rejected you, hurt you... lied to you._

John stared numbly at his alpha's outstretched hand and raised his own to grab hold of it.

_Say something. Tell him, he's been wrong. Tell him, you haven't moved on. You never could, because you love him. Say it!_

John said nothing. All he could do was stare in agony as his alpha spun and quickly moved towards the jet. He was going God knows where and he wouldn't be coming back. John had lost his last chance to try and make things right.

...

The air was chilled as it swept against his face and he watched the jet speed off. Sherlock was gone and as he stared at the jet quickly dissipating, John felt Mycroft's presence.

"Why didn't you say it?"

John shut his eyes, shielding the view of his departing husband. 

"You should have told him."

John knew he should have. He was a disgrace. Mycroft could clearly see the love he had for Sherlock, yet his own mate thought him so flippant as to love another. Love blinded people. Sherlock's skills at deduction were lacking when it came to reading the one person he loved most in this world. Though, really this wasn't Sherlock's fault. John should have never lied. He should have accepted Sherlock's apology and taken him back, because Sherlock had only ever done what he thought best for them. If John hadn't let his anger get the best of him, maybe he could have stopped all of this.

Mycroft hated how his mind wandered to that of Gregory Lestrade when he contemplated the similarities to his brother's situation. Much like John, Mycroft was allowing his anger to dominate his feelings for Gregory. Mycroft couldn't overlook the heartache he'd received at the sight of Gregory and that woman. If Mycroft was being truly honest with himself he'd acknowledge that what really hurt him was that Gregory could so easily give to pleasures of the flesh.

Mycroft was a man who'd never felt the need for pleasures a partner could give. It wasn't that he lacked a sexuality. No, he could achieve an erection if he wanted. It was that Mycroft was raised a certain way. Both he and Sherlock had been taught that sex was never to be had with more than one person in ones life, and that person was to be their life long mate. Gregory had been with who knows how many people and his values on commitment were skewed from that of his own. He'd even gone as far as picking up a complete stranger to be intimate with. Mycroft wasn't sure he could trust an alpha like that with his heart. 

If he were to forgive Gregory. If he were to open his heart to him and be hurt... Mycroft shut his eyes, distantly hearing John's trembling breaths. Much like John, Mycroft would be destroyed.

"I'm a fool." John whined miserably, wiping at his damp eyes. 

Mycroft pursed his lips in anger, wanting to agree, but then his cell rang and work was calling him back to the present.

  



	39. Chapter 39

Sherlock's mission had been canceled and he was released from his assured death sentence. Instead, the government wanted his help again, and so he gave it. John felt relief consume him. It was as if the world was giving him another chance. Sherlock was back. Back in London, back in 221B, and within reaching distance. 

John wanted to take this chance for all it was worth, but he stopped. Not because of his fear, although there was fear there. No. He stopped himself from taking what could easily be his because of Sherlock. He loved Sherlock, yes, but it was that same love that made him hesitate. 

If he took what could clearly be his now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to treasure and nurture it. There were so many things wrong with him. He'd been emotionally, mentally, and physically abused as a child. Those betas had destroyed his fragile mind to the point where he couldn't love Sherlock in the way he wanted to. The way he knew his husband deserved. 

Sherlock _deserved_ an omega who could freely love him and right now, John wasn't there mentally. Sure, he could go now and beg Sherlock to take him back. But if he did it still wouldn't change the way things had been between them. It wouldn't fix what was internally wrong with John. He would still shy away from expressions of love, he'd still question Sherlock's motives and distrust him, though he knew Sherlock was a good man. When Sherlock failed to reach his expectations, John would answer his mate with cruelty. 

John didn't want to hurt Sherlock again, so no. He couldn't go back to Sherlock. Not even now that there was a clear opening for him. Too long he'd rushed into things. Too many times he'd revolted against it. Too many times had he ended up hurting the one person he never wished to hurt. 

John was a mess. He wasn't ready to love, when he couldn't even love himself. Pushing away his past, burying it, and trying to love Sherlock hadn't worked. Ignoring his problems didn't either. No. Sherlock didn't deserve that kind of love. A love that was condemning, ill-fated, no. 

" _Wh- What?_ " Sherlock stammered in disbelief. 

John sat across from Sherlock. Seated within what he'd always considered to be his red chair, he stared at Sherlock leaning forward in his leather chair. John smiled softly at the alpha before him. He'd miss this, sitting together, just talking. He'd miss 221B. He'd miss Sherlock.

"I was never with Mary. She was only ever my friend. I'm sorry I let you believe otherwise. It was childish and cruel of me." John shamefully acknowledged.

Sherlock's lips parted in a breathless exhale as he attempted to make sense of this new discovery.

"You lied to me?"

"I did. I'm not proud of it, but I... I was hurt and angry." John explained, although he knew it no way mitigated his actions. "I regret hurting you. It was wrong of me."

Sherlock palmed his mouth and his eyes narrowed with concentration. Attempting to rectify his beliefs with this sudden discovery. John watched as the wheels turned in those expressive eyes and inhaled a deep breath, knowing what he said now would devastate them both.

"I... I... mm - I love you." John eyes stung, and dampness broke free when he clamped his eyes shut. Something within gave way to bleeding, his veins pulsed, rushing with pain. It was so difficult to say, and yet at the same time it filled John with warmth. How confusing it was. Confessing ones love hurt, and yet it was heartening. 

"I love you, Sherlock... and..." John proclaimed without thought, his mouth moving, his words coming freely from his heart. Once he'd broken the dam, all his feelings were flowing. It hurt to keep in, and it hurt worse to say. It was frightening to show a part of himself he'd kept protected. He didn't want the pain. He didn't like showing himself for what he was because he was now vulnerable. 

"...It scares the hell out of me. You could destroy me, but I can't stop loving you... I'm sorry I couldn't say that before everything happened."

"John..." Sherlock rasped through the darkness of John's clenched eyes.

The tears kept leaking through, though John did everything to stop them.

"I'm damaged. I'm wrong for you. I love you, but I'm not ready. I'm not ready for this." John swallowed past the painful lump in his throat. "I'm not ready for you."

John couldn't see Sherlock's face, but he heard the soft whine in his words. "What are you saying?"

"I'm leaving London. Just... just for a while. I'll come back when... when I'm sure I can love you in the way you deserve." 

Silence was his answer and though he wanted to remain blind to the world around him, he unwillingly opened his eyes, and set his sights on his alpha. Silver eyes, expressive eyes, the most beautiful eyes John ever saw met his own. John's heart burst with grief at the sight of them. Sherlock, his wonderful Sherlock stared at him with devastation. John felt Sherlock's devastation, for it was his own. 

Loving someone one couldn't be with. That was the biggest travesty.

"I love you." John strangled out, shaking his head, hating himself for breaking his husband's heart, again. He was always hurting Sherlock, and he wasn't trying to.

"I love you." John bowed low in his chair, wrapping his own arms around himself, trembling. Unable to stop speaking of what he'd always felt, but had repressed for so long.

"I love you." John wailed and then there were strong arms around him, wrapping around his own and holding tightly to him.

"I love you!" John gasped through sobs, burying his head against the neck laying open in reach for him. 

Nuzzling the warm flesh, scenting the alpha's scent gland, being overwhelmed in the scent of his mate, John crumbled. Holding himself as tightly as Sherlock held him, he slipped from his chair to the floor. Sherlock followed him down. Beyond the heart wrenching sobs, John could hear the words Sherlock spoke into his ear.

"Shhh. I'll wait for you. I'll be here, always. I'll wait. I promise. You come back when you're ready." 

John wept, unable to accept Sherlock kept taking what little he could offer. He wanted it to be more. He wanted to give Sherlock everything his mate could give him. Sherlock didn't deserve to wait for him, but he was so willingly open to doing so for John.

"I promise I'll come back and love you the way you deserve."

"Shush."

"I promise."

"Enough."

"I love you, Sherlock."

"Shhh."

" _I love you. I love you. I love you._ "

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mycroft knew he'd been wrong where Gregory Lestrade was concerned. Gregory hadn't been raised as he had. So Gregory's values differed from his own. Mycroft acknowledged this. For two years Gregory had tried to make amends and seek his forgiveness. Forgiveness for something that wasn't really a wrong. They hadn't been a couple, so Gregory hadn't actually committed infidelity. Gregory acknowledged it wasn't right to seek someone else when expressing feelings for another. Because of this, Mycroft should have given pardon. Gregory wasn't a mind reader, so of course he couldn't see that Mycroft did feel the same. They'd both been wrong. Mycroft a little more so than Gregory.

So, though he felt more than a little out of his place, Mycroft walked past the many officers, until he stood before a shut door. Knocking upon it with the handle of his grey umbrella, Mycroft waited for a reply.

"Come in!" 

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft opened the door and walked in, finding one Gregory Lestrade seated at his desk, overlooking a file. His eyes didn't move up from the papers, obviously expecting whoever it was to speak, but Mycroft did not. 

When several more moment's passed in silence, Gregory raised his head and looked up in annoyance. That annoyance was quickly wiped away with shock.

"Mycroft."

"Hello." Mycroft greeted, suddenly unsure he was brave enough to voice what he'd intended to.

Gregory rose from his chair, dropping his papers to the desk, his gaze never breaking from Mycroft.

"I..." Mycroft began, his mouth suddenly felt dry and he swallowed past the dryness. 

"I..." Mycroft started again, but nothing else escaped. 

He'd been wrong to come. It had been too long. Someone like Gregory would have found someone else. Someone better than him. He shouldn't have been so foolish to...

Turning on his heel, Mycroft went for the door. He couldn't do this. He needed out. His hand reached for the door knob. A strong hand grabbed hold of his arm and held fast, spinning him around to face the warm eyes of a man who made Mycroft not himself.

"Hello." Gregory smiled warmly, as if Mycroft hadn't just tried to run away. "I... missed you."

Mycroft's outstretched hand dropped much like his head. Staring at their feet, Mycroft merely released a noise of agreement, and that seemed to be enough for Gregory to understand.

"Do you... Would you like to have dinner tonight?" 

Mycroft had a secret meeting at six, but he wanted dinner with Gregory too. He didn't want to postpone. He didn't want to reschedule.

"Late dinner? Eight?" Mycroft mumbled softly, daring to raise his gaze and found the smile on Gregory's face brightened.

"Eight is perfect."

Mycroft felt heat rise to his face when Gregory gave a noticeable inhale of breath, taking in his scent. 

"I didn't apply for an omega." Mycroft blurted out, needing Gregory to know this. That was why he'd come here in the first place.

Gregory's grip on his arm turned soft and his thumb stroked at his arm kindly. 

"I know. Sherlock told me."

Mycroft could kill his brother right now, but then Gregory was leaning in close to his cheek. When the other alpha brushed his nose against his temple, scent marking him, Mycroft inhaled sharply and stumbled back and out of the man's grasp. 

Staring in shock at the smugly grinning Gregory, Mycroft flushed brightly.

"I'll pick you up here at eight then." Mycroft managed to say before stumbling out of the office. Feeling Gregory's eyes follow him as he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John's life without Sherlock was abysmally dull. He missed Sherlock. He knew he'd miss him, but this... It was so hard. When he thought Sherlock was dead, he'd missed him then too. But this was worse. Knowing Sherlock was alive and in reach was harder, because he was keeping himself away from him. This was better though. John knew he wasn't ready for what would be expected of him. If he wanted his marriage with Sherlock to be a happy one, then he'd first have to work on himself.

John found himself a nice cottage in the outskirts of Dublin Ireland. Every Tuesday and Thursday John would head out to the city and see his new therapist that had been recommended, Emily Gold. She had a soft voice and approached John's past with care. They'd spoken about a great many of things, and it wasn't just because John trusted her abilities as a therapist. What made him open up more than anything was his wish that the sooner he'd divulged all those things he kept within, maybe he'd be able to begin to fix himself. 

John wasn't an idiot. He knew it would take years to fully feel himself right again, but if he could bring himself to be half the man he wanted to be for Sherlock, than that was a good starting point for them. But God help him it was hard to do life without Sherlock beside him. 

What was most difficult was talking to Sherlock, because although Sherlock had let him go, he wouldn't stop with the phone calls, every Sunday night, eight on the dot. 

When John's cell rang now, he didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. 

"Sherlock." John greeted softly. Laying back in his bed, staring sadly up at the ceiling. He wished more than anything that he could look into those beautiful blue eyes of his mate.

"John." Sherlock greeted. 

John shut his eyes, because Sherlock didn't have to tell him he missed him or wanted him back, he could hear the longing in his voice. Ten months without seeing each other was destroying them.

John waited for Sherlock to begin his complaining: "Mother keeps checking up on me, because you're not here to do it." "Mycroft is a right tosser and I'll end up killing him if you aren't here to stop me." "I can't solve this case without you." "All the food here it terrible, come back and feed me." "I'm bored without you."

There was only the occasionally background noise of London city on Sherlock's end. John waited a moment longer, but when Sherlock made no attempt to speak, John broke it.

"Sherlock?"

"Come back, John." Sherlock rushed out, the plea in his voice so clear that John's heart throbbed painfully.

"No." John bit his bottom lip, hating to reject the plea. It pained him to refuse a request he so wished he could fulfill for himself as well as for Sherlock. "No. I can't."

"Come back, John. _Please?_ " Sherlock's voice wavered and tears were suddenly blurring John's sight because he knew it was his fault his alpha was close to crying.

"I can't." John husked, palming his eyes with one hand, attempting to control his breathing and calm the internal wreckage of his heart. "Not right now."

Silence filled John's ear again and he knew he had to try and make a hard situation for both of them better. 

"I don't like it here." John admitted, remaining honest, and hoped that it would somehow soothe Sherlock's pain. If Sherlock knew how miserable he was here, he'd see that it was because of his love for Sherlock that he was staying and trying to make himself better. It wasn't that John liked being away from his mate, it was that he needed to be. 

"But I'm getting the help I need and I'm working through a lot of my past."

"Why not here, John. Come back and get help here."

"Sherlock... I can't. Being with you, near you, the way I am now is... It's not right. I've been terrible to you. I've hurt you too much to do it again. Please understand."

"I don't understand." Sherlock snapped bitterly. "I _don't_ understand why you can't be here and still get help."

"It's what I need. I need space to work on myself. You are wonderful Sherlock. I just want to be the best I can be, so I don't bring you down."

"You don't bring me down, John. You could _never_ bring me down."

John smiled weakly at Sherlock's kind words. This was why John loved him so much. Sherlock was always so kind and accepting of even the little crumbs John could offer.

"You loved me even when I couldn't love you in return. You are so amazing, Sherlock. I want to be with you when I feel I am good enough to deserve your love."

" _John_..." Sherlock whispered thickly, overwhelmed by John's confession. "John?"

"I'm still here."

Sherlock gave an audible sigh of longing and John's heart clenched. 

"Sherlock..."

"Hmm?"

"I... Hearing your voice is so difficult." John exhaled a heavy sigh of sorrow.

"I... Please, understand, don't call me again."

"John." Sherlock voiced with assertion, because that was too much of a request for the alpha to follow.

"I want your calls. I want to hear your voice. _God_ , do I want to hear your voice. I love your voice." John choked back on a sob, tears springing to his eyes, knowing he would hurt them both with his request, but he needed to ask it.

"Don't call me anymore."

"No."

"I won't answer your calls after today." John answered.

"I'll... I'll come out there." 

"Please Sherlock." John whispered brokenly, shutting his eyes and seeing Sherlock beyond the darkness.

"I need this. It makes everything harder for me to talk to you. To act as if I'm just on holiday, when we both know I'm not. I... I can't. It hurts too much."

Sherlock said nothing and John could imagine Sherlock pouting, with a deep scowl upon his face. 

"Sherlock?"

...

"Please understand."

...

"I... I love you." John hissed past a soft whimper and palmed his damp lashes.

"I promised I'd come back to you when I'm better. I will. I promise you I will."

...

"Will you not wish me a good night's rest?" John asked hopefully, but silence was his answer. John couldn't hang up though because through the background of the city noise, John could still hear the calm breaths of his love.

"Goodnight." Sherlock bid wetly, and John broke further at the sadness in Sherlock's voice. He'd succeeded in breaking Sherlock's heart along with his own. 

"Goodbye love."

  



	40. Chapter 40

Eight months. Gregory Lestrade had been dating Mycroft Holmes for eight months and still, they still hadn't gotten physically closer than a kiss on the cheek or a quick nuzzle of the scent gland after a date. Each kiss on the cheek and scenting was enacted by Gregory. It would appear that Mycroft wasn't in a hurry to strengthen their commitment. That or he simply didn't have a sex drive. _God help him_ if that was the case. If it was... Gregory could accept that. He'd have to, because his inner wolf couldn't live without him. Even if all he could take were a few kisses and nuzzles, he'd make it work.

All of this was circumspect, until they talked about it. Eight months of not talking about it - ignoring it - wasn't helping. Gregory enjoyed their time together. Loved spending hours talking about everything and nothing. Loved looking into those green eyes and seeing the shyness there. His innocent, intelligent alpha had taken possession of his heart long ago. 

"Gregory?" Mycroft called through the fog of the detective's mind. 

"Hm?" Gregory glanced back at the other alpha seated beside him on the love seat of his home.

"You weren't listening." Mycroft sighed, features tensing with dissatisfaction.

"Oh, sorry." Smiling apologetically, Gregory raised a hand and palmed the alpha's knee. 

Their gaze broke at the physical contact and Mycroft's eyes lowered to stare down at the hand resting on his knee. Swallowing back his nerves, Gregory stroked his hand over the government official's knee in what he hoped to be a pleasing way.

"You mean to seduce me - that's why you asked me up for coffee?" Mycroft deduced, voice soft with thought.

"Yes." Gregory rasped, leaning forwards, pressing his chest into the space of Mycroft's own. Raising his other hand up, Gregory cupped the startled alpha's cheek in his hand and leaned further in. 

Shutting his eyes, willing his heart to stop pounding so loudly with nerves, he brushed his nose blindly against Mycroft's. The sharp intake of his breath and tensing of his body was Mycroft's only reply.

"Please, Mycroft. I love you. I want you." Gregory husked, his lips dragging along a warm cheek and near those bloody enticing lips. Lips that had been taunting him for months.

"Gre- Gregory. Isn't this... This is too soon." Mycroft spoke, voice wavering.

Gregory almost laughed. Eight months wasn't too bloody soon, but then he knew that this was Mycroft. Sherlock warned him to be slow and gentle, because although Mycroft wouldn't admit it, he was innocent in every way a partner could be.

"It's time. It's _really_ time."

"But..." 

Gregory didn't want to talk anymore and pressed his lips softly against Mycroft's own. The alpha's lips were warm, soft, untouched and _God_ , Gregory was already half hard. 

"Mm." Mycroft trembled against him.

Gregory moaned happily, pressing his lips firmly against Mycroft's. His hand gliding up Mycroft's knee, along a lean leg and further up until he gripped a hold of a hip. His other hand rose and fisted into soft silky hair, gripping tightly and angling Mycroft's head in the right angle, then his tongue slid out and licked at the seam of Mycroft's lips. 

Gregory was losing himself to the feel of Mycroft's body, moving himself to lean heavily against his unclaimed mate. Mycroft hummed a noise of protest, his mouth opening to try and mumble out words, but Gregory's tongue slid through and _God_ , Mycroft tasted of honey and coffee. 

Mycroft whimpered, his shaking turning violent; his hands shakily gripped to Gregory's shoulders as the alpha's crafty tongue swirled around his lazed one. A heavy growl rumbled from out of Gregory's chest as his tongue loved his mate's. Sliding against his, rolling with his, before tasting him again. 

Butterflies swarmed Mycroft's stomach, making his trembling worse, making him feel sick, and at the same time he wanted more. More of what Gregory could give him, show him. His nerves would kill him before he even got to that point though. 

Gregory's wolf was baying with delight, drinking up his trembling, nervous mate, when all at once he found himself forced back and away from the alpha he desired. Staring up in a daze, Gregory found Mycroft standing before him. 

Green eyes were widely staring down at Gregory, one quaking hand raised to palm his kiss-bruised lips. 

"Sorry." Mycroft spoke. "I'm sorry, I just... That.... I..."

Gregory took a calming breath and raised out his hand, staring hopefully up at the alpha, worried he might have pushed too much. Mycroft stared at his hand warily, before he hesitantly took hold of it, and gradually allowed Gregory to pull him back and seated himself on the couch.

"No, I'm sorry. I should have gone more slowly. We don't have to... consummate our union yet. I just... You want to, right?"

Mycroft adverted his eyes to the ground and gave a slight nod.

"Good... That's good." Gregory raised Mycroft's hand he still held and planted a kiss to pale knuckles. "We can work our way up to that over time."

Mycroft hummed with agreement and met Gregory's gaze once more.

"I... I liked what we did." Mycroft admitted after a long pause. 

Gregory smiled brightly.

"Really?"

"Yes. I just... It was a surprise." 

Gregory laughed heartily, pressing another kiss to Mycroft's hand before placing it to palm his own cheek.

"Sorry. I'll give you more of a warning next time." Gregory promised and turned to nuzzle his mate's pale hand when Mycroft stroked a thumb over his cheek.

"That sounds like a plan."

"Mm." Gregory beamed at his mate. "God, I love you."

Mycroft blushed and turned away from Gregory's sight and Gregory laughed harder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear John,_

_You're probably glaring at this letter right now. Angry with me for not following your request. Well, your request was utter shit. Excuse my language... but it was. How could I possibly just stop calling? I need to talk with you. I need it. I need to talk to you, because I need you. _

_Daft idiot._

_I know you won't respond, because you don't feel like you can. That's alright. I'll write you. You won't have to hear my voice this way. So let me. Read them. Please John. Read my letters, because if you do, at least I'll know you are still with me in some way._

_I love you and I miss you. I could tell you all the reasons why I need you to be by my side, but I don't think that would make you change your views. These warped views that you have on yourself, not I on you. But I won't do that. Instead, I will tell you all the things I've wanted to say, but kept silent about. I think that it is time I spoke. It is time you truly understood me in the way I understand you. Where to begin? There are so many things I could tell you. The beginning is always the best and so I will tell you about how I first fell in love with you._

_Growing up the way I did, I was given all a child could ask for. I was spoiled, but I lacked the one thing money couldn't buy and that was friendship. I had no one I could talk to on a personal level. I was alone, much like you John. That is what caught my attention. Reading your files I understood then you were like myself. You didn't have anyone to turn to in your time of need. _

_I wanted to be that person for you. I wanted to be someone that could bring you relief and contentment. I read how you progressed in your studies, read how you began making friends, and were noticeably happy after those betas were taken care of. I felt like I had someone who needed me and that was enough for me. I was finally no longer alone. Though you didn't know me at the time, I wanted to care for you and hoped that after we met I could tell you this._

_I watched as you joined after school clubs, become the head captain of the rugby team, and I was so proud of your accomplishments. I found your strength as an omega so inspiring. I still find it hard to believe how much hardship you went through and still you came out stronger for it._

_You are strong John. Though you might not feel it, you are. You are one of the strongest people I know. I want you to know that without you by my side, I couldn't have taken down Moriarty. It was because of your strength and love that I found the strength within myself to keep fighting._

_I'm so unbelievably grateful to have you as my mate, and at the same time so regrettably sorry that Moriarty took away our children. I know how much their loss affected you. Still does._

_I haven't forgotten about them. I still think about them, everyday. I think about what we lost that day. I don't just think we lost our family, I think that was when we began to lose each other. There are many things I will regret, but the one thing I will regret the most is what I did to protect myself._

_I now understand why you started back on your suppressants and I should have seen it then... I should have seen a great deal of things, but my feelings for you blinded me. At times, all I could feel was my own feelings and that was one of those times. I wish I hadn't done what I did, and I believe you are beginning to realize what I am implying._

_I'm sorry I let you believe I deleted my love for you. I never did. How could I, John? How could I possibly strip my mind of all those precious memories? I couldn't. Of course I couldn't. I love you. I would sooner die than let a precious moment with you slip from my mind willingly._

_I hid my love from myself. I placed it in a far corner of my mind where I would never possibly go. Where our devil Moriarty dwells. A place I avoid at all costs, ensuring that I wouldn't find those memories. Because although I could never delete you, I could no longer accept the constant rejections. It was my own attempt at protecting my heart, John. I'm sorry for all the pain I caused with this action._

_It didn't work though. A part of me thought it might not. I still fell in love with you, John. Yes, John I loved you before I faked my death. I loved you and was so scared of telling you, because I was different then. I was myself, but a self that had thought they'd grown up alone. Not the self I am that knew I was never alone as a child, because I had you._

_I have you still, though you are far from me. I love you still, though you feel incapable of loving me. So John Hamish Watson, take the time you need in order to feel that you are ready to love me. Know that I am ready for you. I have been ready for you. You can come back to me as you are now or when you feel righted and my love will not waver._

_If there is one thing you should know, John, it is this: No matter what evils we might face, no matter what doubts might hinder your actions, it is that I will always love you. Always._

_I have Mrs. Hudson and Mother, and bloody Mycroft taking care of me, so you need not worry about my health. However, John, please take care of yourself, because I'm not right without you and I could not survive if you were unwell._

_I guess this is where I should say my goodbye until the next time I write, but I won't. I hate saying it and I hate it more now, since it was the last thing you said to me. Instead, I will say, till next time, John._

_Sincerely yours always_

_Sherlock_

 

John carefully folded up the papers and slipped them back into the envelope. Smile faint, John wiped away his tears and laughed sorrowfully.

_Oh Sherlock._

John was appeased by this letter. He'd been miserable this last week without having the option of speaking with Sherlock, but this... this was enough. It was enough for someone like him. He'd continue to read Sherlock's letters, because he wanted a part of Sherlock. Reading these letters somehow made the separation hurt less.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John felt it. A sharp pain stabbed at his heart. The pain strengthened until John gave an agonized shout and fell from off the couch, his book thudding to the floor beside him. Falling onto his side, John whimpered, eyes stinging with tears as he clutched to his shirt above his heart. Pounding, kept pounding, but each pound felt like a hollow thrum - something was missing, another presence. The presence he knew to be his alpha.

The ringing of his cell went off and John's blurred sight could hardly look for it. He was immobilized and struggled to catch his breath. 

_Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock!_ His mind screamed out. Something had happened and-

John belted out a scream of horror as his heart stuttered in its beating, before pounding harshly alone and John knew Sherlock was gone. He couldn't feel his presence at all. Not even faintly.

Everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no subtle sensory reflex as he woke. No. The first thought to his conscious mind was _Sherlock_ and John's eyes snapped in an instant as he lurched forward. He lay in a hospital bed. The room was brightly lit from the afternoon sun shining through the large window.

"You're up." Mycroft greeted, standing from his chair beside the bed. Gregory Lestrade stood somberly beside the other alpha.

"Sherlock! Where is Sherlock? I felt the bond break... Is he...?" John was trembling, voice wavering on tears, as he scrambled out of the bed and reached out for Mycroft. Grasping at the offered hand used to stay him and clenching it viciously.

"You were supposed to be watching him! You're the bloody government and you let him-!"

"He's alive, John. He was on a case, my agents lost track of him and when they found him he'd been stabbed in the chest. I'm sorry. I tried to call you. When you didn't answer I had men go out to get you and you were brought back to London. Sherlock's here, he's awake and-"

"What room!" John shouted, releasing Mycroft and rushing for the door. He needed to see for himself.

"512, to your left." Mycroft called out with a heavy sigh.

John was sprinting down the hall, past patients and nurses, frantically reading the numbers of the rooms. When his sights landed on 512, John barreled into the room and felt his heart give to clenching painfully.

A paler, skinnier Sherlock than he remembered lay in the hospital bed. Sea-green eyes stared at him with a mixture of amazement and need and John sobbed at the sight of him. 

He didn't remember separating the distance between them, or reaching out to hug him, but he remembered being enveloped in the alpha's pheromones. He remembered shoving his nose at the crook of his alpha's neck and drinking up his scent and the tears he'd smeared on ivory skin.

"You bloody fool. How could you be so stupid?"

"John." Sherlock hummed, nuzzling his omega back with just as much affection, "I'm sorry."

"You bloody well should be. I felt it. You died." 

"I'm sorry."

"What's this? You look like you haven't slept or eaten a good meal in ages. You lied to me."

"You read my letter?" Sherlock asked stunned.

"I read them all." John admitted. "You've become like this because of me."

"I did try." Sherlock guilty explained. 

"I know. I know you did. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock's hands stroked at his back, comforting the overwrought omega.

"I've been a bigger idiot. I shouldn't have left you. This wouldn't have happened if I'd been here. God, I don't think I could take it if you had..." 

"Shhh. I'm okay. I will be." Sherlock amended the last part.

"No. You don't understand." John hated to pull away. He didn't want to pull away. He wanted to stay in Sherlock's arms for the rest of his life. He'd been so stupid. He should never have left. 

Staring down at his alpha, John was left breathless at his beauty. Sherlock's dark curls lay a mess on the pillow, his eyes ever carrying a depth unmatched by any he'd ever seen before. His lips were pale and parted in soft stressed breaths, attempting to stem the aching pain. John, realizing his weight over Sherlock must be more than a little painful, and he lifted his chest away from his alpha's.

Palming Sherlock's face within his hands, John met Sherlock's gaze with determination.

"I wanted to right myself to be right for you, but I was wrong. I can't right myself when I don't have you by my side. You make me right Sherlock. You. I can't... I can't be without you. I shouldn't have left. I was a fool for thinking that it was what we needed. I don't know shit about relationships. I don't know how to make this right on my own."

"What are you saying John?" Dark brows furrowed in contemplation. 

"I'm broken and I don't know if I will ever be the perfect omega for you. All I know is I want to be with you. I need you, because you make me so bloody happy."

"I don't care that you're broken. All I know is that you are mine and I am happier with you in my life."

"I will eventually disappoint you. I... can't promise I won't make mistakes."

"I don't care. I never wanted perfect. I want you, flaws and all."

"You really are a fool."

"Maybe, but I'm a fool who loves you." Sherlock grinned, stubborn as ever where his love for John was concerned.

"And I you." John smiled softly back.

"So does this mean...?" Sherlock couldn't say it, it would hurt too much if he was wrong.

"Yes. I'm back. How could I leave a fool like you? You might end up dead if I did." John swore, because he couldn't be without Sherlock. Feeling helpless, not knowing what had happened to Sherlock... That was something John couldn't take again. He would never leave Sherlock alone. Sherlock would not ever be left alone to face the world without him, and certainly never would he be unprotected. 

"I agree. I'm dead without you." Sherlock choked out with sentiment and that pain - John knew he caused that pain.

" _Sherlock_..."

"Don't ever leave me again, John."

"Never. I swear on all that is holy, I will never leave you." John whimpered, pressing fervent kisses all about Sherlock's cheeks.

"I love you." Sherlock murmured.

"I love you more." John answered with passion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gregory Lestrade lay in bed beside a slumbering Mycroft. His bare body felt heated wrapped around his alpha, the sheets tangled together with their limbs. Lying on his side, Gregory, took in the relaxed features of the government official.

Their first night together had been everything Gregory had ever wanted. It only took them a year and 2 months to get here, and God was it worth the wait. The waiting hadn't been easy, but he'd done it for Mycroft. 

The other alpha was hesitant about intimacy and Gregory was more than willing to work their way slowly to it. It started with brief kisses, kisses that turned heated over time, then touches that lingered. 

Only when an exasperated Sherlock told Gregory to show his commitment to Mycroft did things change. A well-planned dinner at Mycroft's favorite Greek restaurant, a confession of love followed by a proposal, led to so much more. Mycroft shyly kissing him after his driver stopped in front of Gregory's place. Then Mycroft asking if he could come up for coffee.

Three cups of coffee later, Mycroft was initiating a kiss that turned passionate under Gregory's influence. After which point, Mycroft whispered against his reddening lips he was ready. That was all Gregory had been waiting to hear and his wolf howled with triumph, before he was hurriedly helping Mycroft rise from the sofa and leading him to his bedroom.

Mycroft had been nervous. Jumping at every sudden touch. Humming shakily when Gregory's kisses moved lower, past his clavicle. When they'd finally been discarded of all clothing and Mycroft was left wet and open for him, he'd taken him slow and firm. Loving him tenderly until they'd both been overwhelmed by their copulation. 

Last night was a night Gregory was sure he'd never forget. Raising a hand to stroke the mark he'd left upon Mycroft's neck filled his inner alpha with peace. They'd taken that final step. Though they were both alpha's they didn't care and marked each other's scent gland with the symbol of their union.

"You're staring." Mycroft rasped, voice sleep-laced goodness, tone agitated.

"Sorry." 

...

Mycroft's eyes remained closed, attempting to reclaim sleep, even though he could feel Gregory's stare on him still.

"Stop it."

"Sorry." Gregory chuckled and settled back beside the alpha. Still looking, because he couldn't believe it. He finally had everything he'd ever wanted.

"So help me Gregory-" Mycroft began threatening, refusing to open his eyes still, because he might be just a fraction too shy to see Gregory after what they'd done.

Gregory giggled happily and ducked his head at the crook of his mate's neck, happily scenting him.

"God, do you know how much I love you?" Gregory breathed contentedly.

"Mm, I assume quite a lot." Mycroft contemplated, and hid his smile in his pillow.

"You won't say it back?" Gregory whined playfully.

"I think I said it enough last night."

"One time is _not_ enough."

"According to you. Once is more than enough Gregory." Mycroft inhaled deeply and wrapped his arms around the other alpha.

"You're terrible."

"Mm." 

Gregory frowned against Mycroft's skin, but couldn't pull away from his scenting.

Mycroft scented the alpha's dissatisfaction, it was bitter to his senses. So much so, Mycroft needed to right it if he wanted to get back his sleep.

"I love you too. Happy?"

Gregory's heart melted. 

"Yes. Very much so."

...

"That's good. Now let me sleep. It's not every day I stay in."

"Yes, love."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Three Years Later_

John watched Sherlock from within the living room. Sherlock was seated at the kitchen table, currently journaling his observations of whatever was in his petri dishes. John smiled softly at his husband; there could be an earthquake and Sherlock wouldn't even notice with how focused he was. This, John determined, was the perfect time. 

Rising from his chair, John left the living area and went to his old room upstairs. They now used it for storage. Sherlock never went up there, but John did. It was the perfect place to keep things he wanted hidden from his husband. Only one thing he hid here and now he was to reveal it. 

When John made his way to Sherlock moments later, holding a vibrant purple gift bag with pink tissue paper sticking out of the opening of it, Sherlock had yet to notice him.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't respond, merely hummed absentmindedly as he jotted his notes.

"Sherlock?" John called again, this time reaching to run his fingers in dark curls.

Sherlock's hand stilled mid-scribble and his head rose to meet John's gaze with one of silent curiosity. Then his eyes took notice of the bag in John's other hand as the omega raised it out to him, offering it up.

"What's that?"

"A gift." John smiled. "For the both of us."

Sherlock sent John a look, unable to attain John's meaning, so instead he set his pen down and took the bag. John watched contentedly as Sherlock hurriedly threw out the tissue paper, all the while he continued his carding of his alpha's hair.

"John..." Sherlock struggled to voice, holding the object in his hand, eyes wide with disbelief.

Held within Sherlock's hand was a small yellow and black striped bumble bee onesie with a black stinger sewn at the back side of it. 

"I had it made. It's unisex, so it will work for whatever we have." John tried not to give in to the tears that threatened to be released. "Guess this is where I should say, surprise. Surprise, Sherlock. "

Knocking back his chair, Sherlock stood and, clutching the onesie in one hand, turned to wrap his arms tightly around the startled omega.

"Oh John!" Sherlock shouted with joy, lifting up the omega and began swinging him around in an embrace full of care and love.

"Sherlock!" John cried out with joyous surprise and laughed happily, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and burying his head against his neck.

Sherlock set John down, giggling with mirth as he nuzzled John's neck with just as much affection.

"Really? You're really pregnant?" Sherlock finally asked when they pulled away and stared at him with such hope.

John beamed, nodding his head emphatically and blinked quickly, containing his tears. 

"Yes. I went to the gynecologist to confirm it. I'm seven weeks."

"Oh! How did I miss this?"

"You're a fool?" John offered helpfully, biting back a laugh.

"I must be." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement. 

"It's okay though. I like you just the way you are." John amended, leaning into the touch of Sherlock's hand that sought to cradle his face. He shut his eyes enjoying the feel of Sherlock's warmth.

"We've been trying for so long, I just thought... Oh, but that doesn't matter now. I will need to get a science kit for the little lad." Sherlock thought aloud, pure excitement.

"It could be a girl." John cut in.

"Yes, well, whatever our child is, they'll have a science kit."

"Mm, yes. I like the sound of that. Science is very important."

"Oh, it is John!"

John couldn't help but laugh loudly.

"What? What's so funny?"

John cupped Sherlock's face with both of his hands and loved the tension of his alpha's brow. Sherlock was the love of his life and they were starting their family. Everything was perfect. 

"Nothing dear. I am just unbelievably happy."

"Oh."

"Oh is right." 

"I love you, John." Sherlock bent down and planted a soft kiss to John's lips, then smiled between them and at John's hard stomach. "I love you too, lad or lass. I really do."

"And we both love their daddy very much." John answered and leaned up to kiss Sherlock again. This kiss was firm and chaste. It was a promise for more goodness to come. Years and years of laughter and joys. Years of endless love. A promise stronger than any other promise. A promise of love never-ending.

  



End file.
